


There's A Devil In The Church

by Saoirse_Laochra



Series: I'm A Wanted Man [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Batfamily Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Nightmares, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-05-15 07:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 31,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saoirse_Laochra/pseuds/Saoirse_Laochra
Summary: Three years after leaving Gotham, Jason returns, a different person. On a vendetta, out for blood,  and pissed as hell.Who’s he pissed at? The Joker? Batman? Gotham? The Universe?Eh. Depends on the day.





	1. INTRO

**Author's Note:**

> So I know the first chapter is a bit slow going; it's an intro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what was up with AO3 last night, but it cut off chunks, wouldn't format, etc., so I reposted it.

Talia watched from the doorway, as Tayiri went through his drills, moving from one target to the next with ease, never breaking a sweat as he flowed from one style to the next as easily as most men drew breath.

Tayiri would never be considered ‘graceful’ by anyone; unlike all of her previous students, Tayiri wasn’t subtle, or smooth. He was a bear compared to her tigress, using brutal strength, and a powerful physique to absorb blows as he moved closer until he could crush his opponent under heel. An interesting tactic, and one that she’d only ever seen Tayiri pull off with any real effect.

But there was, perhaps, a certain amount of… _elegance_ in his brutality. While her father sniffed disdainfully, it was simply a fact that Tayiri hadn’t lost a sparring match in almost two years, against those who had trained thrice as long as he had in many cases. That despite his lack of grace, he was an unstoppable force on the mats, and could simply outlast most of his opponents, taking beatings that would leave lesser men broken and defeated.

She felt a surge of pride bloom in her chest as Tayiri lashed out with a _te tat_ , that split the target, sending sand spraying across the room. Her father could keep his _jamila aschishin_ ; she would take her Titan over any of them. Despite her initial worries, Tayiri had never failed to please her, had never failed to carry out her orders, and he had never disappointed her.

“Tayiri! _Xiūxí_!” She called out, moving onto the mats. He glanced over at her, and removed the tiny earphones he wore, giving her a half bow as he walked towards her.

“ _Tā shì shénme_?” He asked, his eyes hard as he looked over her shoulder for a reason for the visit. “It’s my free hour.”

She smiled up at him, reaching her hand up to rest on the side of his face, rubbing it across the stubble on his chin. She could still remember when she’d had to raise her arm to make the same gesture; in the proceeding three years, he’d grown almost nine inches, and put on almost a hundred and twenty pounds of muscle, transforming him from the sickly, broken looking child she’d first met, into a man with the physique of the Gods of old, and the confidence to match.

“We must talk, Tayiri. _Lái_.” She turned, and made her way out of the training room, and into the rice-papered hallways. After a few minutes of walking, she noticed -with more than a bit of pride -that Tayiri had slowed his gait enough to match her stride, but that he stayed by her side. No longer cowering behind, or pushing forward. Moving as equals.

“It goes without saying that you’ve exceeded my expectations, Tayiri,” She began, as they entered the gardens. “You have done better than any student we’ve had in a century, and your skill has gained you no shortage of admirers… nor enemies,” She added with a sardonic smile as they passed a group of initiates meditating, watching as at least a handful of eyes turned to glare at their passage.

He chuckled at that, giving the students what Americans called a ‘cock-sure’ smile, and a little wave, arrogance oozing from every pore. “Can’t help if the lesser beings are jealous,” He said easily.

“And your humility continues to astound us all,” She said dryly. “But we’re not discussing your faults today, Tayiri. Today is a day of mixed blessings; one of great sorrow and great joy. For today, Tayiri, you return home.”

He stopped so quickly he nearly fell over, his face an unreadable mask. “I… What?”

She gave him a smile, leaning against the wall as she stopped. “I’ve taught you everything I can, Tayiri. It is time for experience to become your teacher. It is time for you to return to the world, and leave us behind.”

"But, you’re sending me _home_. That’s not how this typically works.” His voice was cautious, with a rough edge as he resumed walking. “I’ve only been here three years. I’m not even supposed to leave the compound yet.”

“Not that that particular decree has ever stopped you from wandering where you please,” Talia interuptted with a smile.

“That’s not the point. I haven’t had my first Rènwù yet, and you’re just going to let me go exploring?”

Talia waved her hand impatiently. “You are not, and have never been a ‘typical’ initiate, Tayiri. We both know that you never wanted the League’s life. That you didn’t share our goals, or our visions. All you wished from us was our training, and now, you have learned all from us that you can learn. So I am releasing you from my service, Tayiri. I am your teacher no more.”

“Your father won’t like it,” He said, a note of caution in his voice as they entered his small room. “Matter of fact, I’d say he’s gonna be fuckin’ pissed.”

Talia rolled her eyes as she sat gracefully on his bed, motioning towards his rucksack . “Indeed. But he will not stop you if you leave now. Gather your things, and be as far as you can by night’s break. Then go further.” She slipped a piece of paper from her sleeve, and tucked it into his bag as he threw clothes in. “That is the access code for one of my accounts. I’ve given you enough funds to set yourself up in a modest manner; more than that, and you will have to provide for yourself.”

He lifted the bag up onto his shoulder, and shifted from foot to foot for a moment, before  he pulled her into a tight embrace.“Thank you, Talia. For everything.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she returned the gesture. “You must go, Tayiri. But I would make of you one request.”

“Anything,” He said automatically. “Name it.”

“Destroy the file. Do not punish yourself anymore.” When he stiffened in the embrace, she pulled back to meet his eyes. “For three years, Tayiri, you’ve listened to a child you called ‘friend’ die; you’ve listened to her final moments. While you train, while you eat, while you sleep, you have her death playing over and over again in your ears. I would ask that you let her go, Tayiri. Move forward in your life, and let her ghost remain in the past.”

He looked away as he hiked the rucksack higher onto his back. “I’ll let you know when I’m clear.” He moved towards the door, before stopping, hesitation clear on his face as he turned back towards her. “Talia… Can I ask you something?” At her slight nod, he took a deep breath. “Knowing what happened… Back in Gotham. What would you have done?”

“You mean if you were my child, and someone kidnapped and tortured you?” At his small, unsure nod, she reached out, and put her hand on his face again. “I would burn the world to ashes, Tayiri, leaving nothing more than rubble in my wake.”

He smiled, leaning into her palm for a moment, before pulling away.“Thank you for everything. Be safe, Talia.”

She nodded her head towards the door. “Go. You’re running out of time.”

He gave her an odd, two-fingered salute, and quietly left, shutting the door behind him. As soon as she heard the latch click, she sighed. “Be safe, Jason Peter Todd.”  


	2. There's A Bullet In The Chamber...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason returns to Gotham, and finds everything's went to hell.

Jason had spent his life breathing in the dust, smog, and shit that was Gotham air; as pathetic as it was, he’d never adjusted to the Tibetan mountains, the clean air always feeling… _wrong,_ somehow _._ Like the air was supposed to smell funny, and tickle the back of your throat.

He could feel it as soon as he got within fifty miles of the city; it settled into his lungs like the first drag of a morning cigarette -a bit rough, but soothing all the same as your body readjusted to the poison you were pumping into it.

Despite Talia’s assurances, he’d hauled ass out away from the compound, taking a few, hour-long catnaps until he’d hit Kyrgyzstan, deciding to cut north through the Himalayas on the secret paths Talia had taught him, rather than going south through India and Pakistan. A harder trek, but avoiding large crowds had seemed like a better option. At least that way, anyone he seen could be considered a threat, rather than his paranoia searching every face in a crowded market place.

Plus, only an idiot would take the mountain paths; it was a far harder journey, especially without supplies, and the journey through India would’ve been relatively easy going. If Ras did decide to try and hunt him down, he would’ve sent people there first, giving Jason at least a few days head start on anyone sent to bring him back.

He’d resupplied in Gulcha, continued on foot until Moscow, where he’d used his fake ID to get a passport, and hop a plane to Warsaw. Then he’d ditched that passport, gotten another one made up, and hoofed it to Germany, where he’d hotwired a motorcycle that he took to Calais, where he’d hopped on the ferry to Dover, and then changed ID’s one more time for the plane ride back to the States.

Where he’d used the last of Talia’s money to buy himself a customized Ducati, and added a few of his own modifications, before moving towards Gotham, picking up another fake ID, and settling on Todd Peters this time around. Unoriginal, trite, probably stupid… But it worked for now.  It'd gotten him through customs, and within a few hours of landing, he was on his way.

It was worse than he’d remembered. While Gotham had never won any ‘City Of The Year’ awards, even the Bowery had been… _livable_. Somewhat, anyways, if you were smart, and knew how to keep your head down. Now, though, as he drove down Crime Alley, it looked like some of the war zones he’d seen in pictures; buildings in disrepair, some of them missing huge chunks of walls, almost none with windows, and people huddled around trashcan fires, looking nervously over their shoulder. Nobody was walking alone, everyone moving in at least groups of two or three, and he watched packs of homeless kids move through the alleys like wild dogs. Everyone gave everyone else a wide berth, and no one was wondering from group to group.

Finally, he pulled his bike off to one side of the street, and after activating the security system, he moved down the alley after a group of kids he’d seen headed that direction. It was a smaller group, maybe eight or nine kids, the smallest pack he’d seen of the kids so far.

“Hey,” He called out casually as he neared a corner. “I ain’t lookin’ to start a fight. Just wanna ask some questions. Willin’ to pay. Been outta town a while, need to know what I’m walkin’ into.”

As he rounded the corner, he was greeted by the sight of the two largest kids of the group -a boy and a girl -standing in the center, pose casual and relaxed. Glancing around, he made two hiding behind the dumpster to his left, three up on different fire escapes, and another one hiding behind a group of trash cans.

“Dangerous walkin’ down alleys alone, _pendejo_ ,” The boy said lazily. “An’ that piece of advice is _free_.”

Jason chuckled under his helmet, shaking his head a bit. “I really don’t wanna hurt any of you guys. Seriously, I just need some information, an’ I’m willin’ to pay for it.”

“Or we could just beat the shit outta you, an’ take your money, _ese,_ ” The girl said with a laugh.

Jason shrugged. “You could try. An’ I mean, I’d do my best not to hurt any of you, but I can’t make any promises. Nine of you scramblin’ around, kickin’ and screamin’… somebody’s _bound_ to get hurt. Or we could all jus’ sit down an’ chat, you guys get paid, an’ I get my information. We all go about our merry ways. I just need to know who’s runnin’ things, who’s dealin’ what… Usual stuff.”

The girl scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “You a cop or some shit? What do _you_ care?”

Jason sighed in frustration, rolling his eyes as he tried to rein in his temper. “Guys… look. It’s been a long few weeks. And normally, I’d be a lot nicer about all this, but I’m tired, I ain’t had a shower, and my ass hurts from riding a bike four hundred miles. So if you’re gonna try an’ jump me, let’s jus’ get this over with. Otherwise, give me some answers, and we can actually try an’ get some shit accomplished tonight. I’m sure you have people to beat up, or somethin’, and I’d hate for you to miss out.”

The boy stepped forward. “Hundred bucks. Fifty now, fifty later.”

Scoffing, Jason leaned against the dumpster where the two kids were hiding, pushing it back just enough that they wouldn’t be able to easily or quickly get out at him. “Better offer: pack of smokes now, hundred after you tell me what I want. Not that I don’t trust you, but… well, I don’t trust you.”

The two apparent leaders looked at each other for a minute, and Jason had the idle thought that they might be twins; they looked alike, and they clearly were communicating with each other on some level as they stared at each other, before looking back at Jason.

“Deal. But you try anythin’ funny, asshole, an’ we won’t leave enough of you for anyone to identify, got it?” The boy said finally, glancing back at Jason. “Three, four, five, watch behind. Six, eight, and nine, alley entrance. Seven, you’re with me an’ two.”

Jason couldn’t help an impressed whistle as the kids darted out of their hiding spots, moving like a well-oiled machine to obey their leader’s orders; even the ones behind the dumpsters clamored out underneath, moving like lizards across the ground, one heading towards the alley, and the other sliding over next to the leaders. “Nice set-up you two got,” He said, letting the slightest hints of approval through his voice as he dug a fresh pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, and tossing them to the girl. She caught them easily, and almost faster than Jason could follow, she slid them up her sleeve. “So. Pleasantries out of the way, who’s runnin’ the drug trade in the Bowery?”

“Black Mask. Runnin’ most the whores too. Protection gigs; usual stuff,” The boy supplied easily.

“Black Mask, huh? Don’t ring a bell,” Jason said after a few moments’ thought, unable to place the name. “Where’d he come up from?”

“Dunno; he don’t offer, an’ not too many stupid enough to ask him, yeah? There was a rumor goin’ round sayin’ he was one of Falcone’s boys; some other folks said he acted big for his pants, like he had good breedin’ up on the Hill,” The girl said, scorn clear in her voice.

“Alright. How ‘bout the Falcones? Still up in Carmine, pushin’ shitty guns?”

“They pushed into the Bowery a few years ago; took eight blocks, but the Black Mask took back four. Now they stay up there for the most part. They still deal the guns, but they’ve started bringin’ in fancy shit from overseas.”

“What kind of fancy shit?” Jason asked, levering himself up on the dumpster to sit.

“Hookers, booze, animals… pretty much anything ya can’t get in the States. An’ the Sullivans own the Cauldron now; big clan war ‘tween them and the Reillys last year, but Sullivan came out on top.”

“What about the Bowery? How’s life down here?”

“You serious, _pendejo_? It fuckin’ _sucks_ , how do you think it is?” The girl spat angrily. “Always has, always will.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Look, _puta_ , I was where you are about ten years ago. An’ it wasn’t like _this_. So I’m askin’ what’s changed in the past three years here. An' I'm even askin' nicely. So how 'bout we can the attitude.”

The girl opened her mouth, but the boy hushed her with a look as he stepped forward. “Most a the legit businesses closed down, people travel in packs, and nobody wanders off by themselves -whores, thieves, bangers… it don’t matter, nobody travels alone in the Bowery anymore. Hell… Police won’t even come down here these days. Few months back, was a riot that got out of control… Burned three city blocks. Fire station finally showed up after a few hours; cops never did.”

Jason scoffed. “Cops not givin’ a shit ‘bout what happens down here ain’t exactly _new_ , kid.”

“No, man, this ain’t that they don’t _care_. It’s that bein’ a cop, an’ comin’ down here -even durin’ the day -is puttin’ a target on your head. They lost nineteen cops in six days last year. After that… They don’t come down here. Not worth it. Hell, even the Bat an’ Robin don’t come down here no more.”

Jason nearly choked on a puff of smoke he’d been trying to exhale. “What? You sayin’ they’re afraid or some shit? C’mon man, I ain’t been gone that long.”

“It’s true,” The girl snarled. “Couple years ago, Joker dropped a lot of bodies; blew up a school, massacred a bunch of old folks at a senior citizen center, an’ dropped a case of that weird smiley gas in the air ducts of the Y on Jamison, tryin’ ta get Batman’s attention. Took Batman, Robin, and Nightwing to finally bring him down. I heard they even called in outside help. People were pissed, but ya know, at least they caught him, right? Then about a year and a half ago, there’s a great big breakout at Arkham. Over a hundred freaks and scumbags got out, and disappeared into the city. Most a ‘em ended up in the Bowery. People started dropping like flies, and they still ain’t caught some a those bastards. Like Poison Ivy, Killer Croc, Harley Quinn… They’re still just floating around, fuckin’ shit up, ya know? Add that to the crime lords takin’ over half the city, and enforcin’ their rules with beatdowns, an’ people just got pissed. Wasn’t like it was a planned thing or nothin’, but Batman and his birds ain’t welcome here anymore. Wasn’t like things were gonna get much worse for us anyways, right? Better off without ‘em.”

“What about the Joker?”

The kid scoffed, folding his arms over his chest, cigarette hanging from his lips. “What about him? Crazy fucker pops up once in a while ta give Batman hell, then disappears again.”

“Where’s he nest? Still at Amusement Mile?”

“Aw hell, man, like I fuckin’ know. We hear that laugh, an’ we tear ass in the other direction, an’ don’t stop ‘til we can’t run no more. The bosses, they’ll jus’ kill ya, ya know? But Joker, man… he’ll leave ya wishin’ you were just dead.”


	3. ...And This Is Gonna Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim reflects on the situation with him and Bruce, and why Gotham is angry at the Bat Family.

Two Weeks Later

“Gonna be home at a decent hour tonight?”

Tim chuckled as he landed on top of a half-ruined building, careful to keep to the shadows. “Doubt it. Got a lead on Harley, and Batman wants me to camp it out here until I can ‘confirm or deny’,” He said good-naturedly. “Sorry, Oracle.”

“Guess I’ll have to watch the new episode of The 100 by myself then,” Barbara said casually, and Tim could hear the teasing in her voice.

“You do, and I’m rubbing vegetable oil all over the wheels of your chair.”

“That’s cold, Robin,” She said with a laugh. “Inventive, but cold. Alright, I’m here if you need me. Just give a holler. Oh, FYI, keep an eye out for the blue and black pajama boy.” Over the coms, Tim could hear a muted protest, and Barb corrected, “I’m sorry, Blue and Black Pajama _Man_. He’s suiting up now.”

“Isn’t he supposed to be on vacation?”

“According to him, this _is_ his vacation.”

“Tell him to keep out of sight if he goes to the Bowery. Don’t know what’s going on tonight, but everybody’s on edge. Whole place feels like a powder keg. And I doubt he’s anymore welcome here than Batman or me.”

There was the slight sounds of a scuffle, with an indignant squawk from Babs, before Dick’s voice came on the line.

“You kiddin’, baby bird? Everybody loves me. I’m welc -aggghhh! Dammit, what was that for?!”

Tim waited patiently, trying to keep from chuckling, when Babs came back on the line.

“Anyways, be careful. Call if you need me.”

“Will do, Oracle. Robin out.”

Tim settled into his little perch, trying to get comfortable, while still staying out of sight. Bruce’s new rule was stealth, always, in the Bowery, and only go in when necessary. But the opportunity to find Harley -and, hopefully, Joker by association -was too good to pass up. They’d heard whispers that she was holing up somewhere north of Crime Alley, in between the territory Black Mask and the Falcones were fighting over. Essentially, it was no-man’s land, a deserted wasteland of death, where only the Falcones, and Black Mask goons went when they were going to war with each other. Everyone else had cleared out of the area two years ago, when a Falcone bomb had leveled a fully occupied apartment.

Seventy-three civilians died in the explosion alone. Another fifty-nine died from the shoot-out that followed, spilling from the streets into buildings, and rooftops.

He and Batman had tried to stop it, but they hadn’t known about the bomb. It had been too late for those inside, and that had thrown both of them off their game. Add to that that Tim was trying to save civilians, and Bruce was trying to take down thugs, and they’d been at odds, unable to reach their usual level of competence.

It’d been a disaster, all the way around, one that Gotham’s less fortunate hadn’t been willing to forgive them for. It hadn’t been the only thing, but it’d been the last straw, so to speak, the one that broke the camel’s back, and the denizens of the Bowery, the Cauldron, and Cape Carmine had lashed back so hard that Tim and Bruce’s heads had spun. They were still gingerly discussing how to handle the situation, but nothing had really seemed like a feasible option yet, or at least not one that they could both agree on, and until a workable solution could be reached, they were both avoiding being seen in any of the three areas.

That lack of a solution, and disagreement over how to handle the situation, was part of the reason they’d been working together less and less; Tim had already been a late starter to the Robin party, which meant he’d never had the blind loyalty to Bruce, the one that had turned sour and driven Dick to Blüdhaven. He’d never had any problem calling Bruce out on something. And lately, it seemed like that was all he did.

Not that Bruce listened; since the Joker had escaped Arkham again, Bruce had been on a damn warpath, barely eating or sleeping, always looking for a way to catch whatever bad guy grabbed his obsessive focus at any given time. He ignored Tim, he ignored Dick, he ignored Barbara, and while he might have listened to Alfred, he usually just went ahead and did whatever it was he wanted to do anyways.

It had only gotten worse once him and Barbara had gotten an apartment of their own, and Dick had went back to Blüdhaven; without anyone other than Alfred there to reign in his more… self-destructive habits… Bruce was literally working himself into an early grave. He spent his nights patrolling, and his days hunting down any sign of Jason -not that any of them had found a damn trace of him.

It hadn’t really surprised Tim that Jason had disappeared; it also didn’t surprise him that Bruce still held it against him that he’d told Jason about the videos, and what was going on. Jason had deserved to know, just like he deserved the chance to go off on his own and find his own path; to move out of the shadow of Gotham and Batman, Robin and the Joker, and every shitty thing that had happened to him in his short life.

So when he’d dropped off the face of the earth, with nothing more than a note saying he had to leave, Tim alone had respected that decision, and hadn’t looked for him. He didn’t begrudge the rest of the family looking for him, but he’d flat out refused to help. He’d told them that Jason needed space to figure out who he was, and he wasn’t going to get that with his family hanging over his shoulder; that while he wouldn’t stop or hinder their search, he wouldn’t be involved either.

And that had been a family blow-out of epic proportions; while Dick and Babs had been angry with him, they’d understood, at least, where he was coming from. Barbara had put it best when she told him that while she disagreed with him, and hated his decision, she didn’t begrudge him for it.

Bruce, unfortunately, hadn’t been quite so understanding. He’d lashed out, threatening to kick Tim out of the manor, saying that if he didn’t care about the family, he didn’t have to be a part of it any longer. He’d cooled off after Tim had spent the time setting up his and Babs new apartment, but it was still the elephant in the room whenever they were together, even three years later, no matter how much the rest of the family tried to tone down the situation.

“Robin, you read me?”

Tim startled out of his reverie, silently cursing himself for losing focus, as he responded back.

“I read you, Nightwing. What’s up?”

“Um… I’m over by Sprang Bridge; followed the GCPD here.”

Tim frowned, pulling himself to his feet as he prepared to head that way. “What’s Gordon doing bringing the police into the Bowery?”

“Well, it might have something to do with the twelve headless bodies hanging from their ankles.”

“The… _what_?”

“I’m looking at it now; GCPD’s still photographing the scene, but yeah: twelve bodies, sans heads, hanging from the cables of Sprang Bridge. No ID’s yet since they haven’t taken the bodies down.”

“I’m on my way.”

“See you soon.”


	4. These Fields Of Battle

Dick was watching the GCPD trying to take down the bodies, while simultaneously cover the crowd for threats, when Tim landed next to him.

“We gonna help?” He asked, glancing over at the younger man -the younger man who was both his brother, and brother-in-law, in some weird and twisted family dynamic.

But the latest incarnation of Robin shook his head. “Nothing we can do will help, and if we’re spotted, the crowd might frenzy,” He said quietly, and Dick couldn’t place if his voice was mournful, or regretful. “Gordon already told Batman he doesn’t want us anywhere near GCPD until tempers cool, and we agreed to honor that for the time being. What do you have so far?”

“Picked up some stuff from the GCPD chatter; scanners picked up the rest,” He said, pointing towards his domino mask. “No cause of death, but at least the coroner doesn’t think they where beheaded while they were alive; post-mortem.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Tim grumbled. “Any idea who they are? Tell us a lot about who did it. Black Mask and the Falcones have been pretty quiet for the most part; if this was one side or the other, it’s going to be a war of biblical freaking proportions.”

“ ‘Fore they got the bodies down, I saw that at least three of the bodies had Falcone ink, and Gordon identified one of the other ones as one of the Black Mask’s lieutenants.”

Tim whistled. “So… New player in town?”

Dick nodded, balancing on the balls of his feet, staring out at the crowd. “New player in town. One who’s looking to make some enemies. Or has a death wish.”

“I don’t think so. About the death wish, anyways. This was a message,” Tim said slowly, moving closer to the edge of the building. “I mean, killing them and beheading? Yeah, that could be a new player pissing on gang territory, but hanging the headless bodies from Sprang Bridge? It’s somebody saying ‘ _screw you_ ’. That’s a _message_ to somebody.”

“It is.”

Dick had been around Bruce enough to learn not to jump at the man’s sudden appearances and disappearances, but it was a close thing; his voice behind them was a surprise to Dick at the very least, and from the look on Tim’s face, not a good one either.

“How do you know?” Dick asked, turning away from the edge, and moving towards Bruce.

“Gordon called. Each man had this –“ He tapped on the Bat symbol on his breast plate “-carved into his chest.”

Both Tim and Dick stared at each other stupidly for a moment, before Dick spoke. “Um… So is it supposed to be a message _to_ you, or a somebody wanting people to think it’s _from_ you?”

“We don’t have enough information yet. But whatever the message is, whoever did this wanted all of Gotham to see it. He or she could have easily delivered the same message by leaving them in a pile somewhere, or on top of a building; hell, they could’ve done what the Joker did and drop them in front of the GCPD. But they didn’t; they dropped them right here for everyone in the city to see. Even people who don’t travel in the Bowery use Sprang Bridge to pass through to the northern districts. And something like this… It’ll make state news at the very least, if not national.”

“What a minute, how did somebody even _get_ the bodies up there without being seen? Chatter on the radio said a bunch of drivers all started calling in about it at the same time; this bridge is _never_ empty, even this late at night; you said it yourself, Batman, this bridge is one of the only ways into the northern districts from the east side. And if you look, the bodies are literally hanging right next to the lights. Spaced out about five feet from each other. How did somebody manage to hang _twelve_ _bodies_ by their ankles at one time, with nobody noticing? Hell, how did somebody get twelve headless bodies onto the bridge without somebody seeing _something_?” Dick demanded. “I mean, I get this isn’t exactly a ‘Neighborhood Watch’ area, but _somebody_ would’ve called that in.”

“We’re assuming it’s one person,” Tim pointed out. “Could’ve been a group.”

Bruce shook his head. “No. If nobody spotted anyone, then it’s probably safe to assume it was one person. You get a small army up here, and they definitely would’ve been spotted. One person. Two at most, maybe somebody to keep watch for witnesses. And for all we know, there _could’ve_ been witnesses. They might’ve ignored it, or whoever did this might’ve cleaned up anyone unfortunate enough to spot him. Some of those bodies up there might actually _be_ witnesses.”

“That’s a lot of assumptions,” Tim said, his voice derisive. “Lot of assumptions, and no facts to back it up.”

Bruce turned a cold stare towards Tim, his face stony as ever. “There is no _evidence_ right now. We _could_ wait until the GCPD labs give us something to go on -but who knows how long that will take? So should we just sit and wait until whoever did this drops _more_ bodies? Decides to up the body count?”

Tim’s lip curled up scornfully. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

As Bruce surged forward, Dick jumped in-between them, one hand on each of their chests as the two attempted to go toe-to-toe. “Woah, woah, _woah_. I don’t know what the _hell_ is going on with you two, but this isn’t helping. Tim, go take a lap. Run a patrol beat. Go home and talk to Oracle. Whatever you want, but _you_ need to go take a few breathes.”

“No, Nightwing. He has something he wants to say, he can _damn_ well say it,” Bruce growled, pushing against Dick’s hand.

“No, he _can’t_ , and quit antagonizing him,” Dick snapped. “Tim. _Go_. I’ll swing by in the morning, see if Oracle’s pulled anything up, okay?” When Tim made no move to leave, Dick gave him his best pleading look. “Please, Tim. We all just need to cool off.”

Tim held Bruce’s gaze for a few more seconds, before he stomped off towards the edge of the building. But much to Dick’s chagrin, he stopped halfway, and turned back towards them, getting in Bruce’s face -a move so aggressive, and out of character for Tim, that Dick didn’t even have time to react.

“Dick’s seven o’clock. Mini stalker,” Tim hissed, keeping his face angry -or at least Dick hoped it was an act, because Tim looked almost murderous. “Top of the utility shed.”

With that, he grappled to the next nearest building, and disappeared into the blackness that was Gotham at night.

“Batman –“

“Wait, Nightwing,” Bruce interrupted, holding one hand up to his ear, as if he were listening to a com. “Oracle needs reference pictures; size comparisons. You cover the edges facing the bridge, I’ll take the side buildings, and the background.”

Dick nodded, understanding Bruce’s plan, and moved forward casually, as if there wasn’t a kid on the roof with them, watching. He switched on his scanner, and his vision blurred for a moment, before Bruce’s line of vision replaced his own, thermal scanner showing at least four small heat signatures on the roof.


	5. I Must Confess...

Tim waited until he was a few blocks away from Bruce and Dick, before radioing Babs.

“Oracle, we need whatever overhead surveillance you can get us on Batman and Nightwing’s location; CCTV if you can get on the surrounding alleys,” He relayed, trying to keep his voice neutral, to not let the anger at Bruce seep through.

“What’s going on?”

He didn’t bother asking if she was pulling up the surveillance. “Could be just a Bat fan, but I spotted at least two, possibly three kids on the roof where we were watching the crime scene. And not just homeless kids who happened to be camping out where we were; they were hidden, and hidden good. Like, if Batman hadn’t pissed me off, we might not have seen them good.”

“You’re right; one you might buy being that well-hidden; two or three, and you’ve got stalkers.”

“Yeah, that’s what I -uh…” Tim came to an abrupt halt on the edge of the building, staring at the street below.

“Robin? Robin, you still there?”

“I uh… You might want to let Batman and Nightwing know I’ve think I found our message boy. I’m verbally engaging,” He said quietly, before jumping down off the roof.

He stared at the man, clad in black cargo pants, leather jacket, and a full-headed red mask, who was whistling cheerfully as he pulled on a rope, hauling a corpse - _that was very obviously a corpse, given the number of bullet holes visible in the white wife beater_ -up a streetlamp, switching his tune from something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Hakuna Matata’ to ‘Under the Sea’ as he tied off the rope. Tim could only watch, stunned, as the man walked back to the body, and attached a placard around the corpse’s waist.

“Dangerous place for little birds to be, or so I hear. You and the Bat ain’t exactly welcome in the Bowery these days.”

Tim instantly fell into a basic defensive stance at the man’s words, watching as he turned to face him.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“Just your friendly neighborhood pest control. See? Pest –“ he pointed both hand’s towards the body with a showman’s sense of style “-and pest control.” He pointed at his chest, before turning his back to Tim, and readjusting the placard. “Run along, Robin; I hear the big bad Bat doesn’t want you here by yourself, and I don’t see your baby-sitter anywhere.”

“Those bodies, on Sprang Bridge. That was you, wasn’t it?” Tim demanded, as he heard Batman’s voice in his ear, telling him to hold on, he and Nightwing were coming, keep the suspect distracted. “ _You_ strung those bodies up for the whole city to see, like some kind of old western.”

The man still didn’t turn to look at him, obviously trying to show how little a threat he viewed Tim, as he spoke again. “Eh, what can I say? I’m a fan of the classics,” He said idly, reaching out, and adjusting the sign again, and over his shoulder, Tim could read ‘child rapist’ printed in a garish red lettering. “Besides, nothing really strikes fear into a guy like beheading.”

“But you didn’t kill them by hanging them, or beheading them, did you?” Tim said, letting a bit of curiosity creep into his voice. “What _did_ you do with the heads, anyways? You don’t really seem like the trophy type.”

The man turned, scoffing loudly as he folded his arms across his chest, and leaning against the body. “What, you got me all figured out in two minutes, baby bird? What do _you_ know? Maybe I mounted ‘em on the walls of my evil underground lair.” He laughed, a sound that cut off abruptly as he glanced up at the skyline, eyes locking onto something over Tim's shoulder. “Well, that’s my cue, bud. Gotta fly. Nice talkin’ to ya though. Give the furry and the original my regards.” He gave him a two fingered salute, and then darted off, taking a sharp left down an alley.

“Hey! Hey, _stop_!” Tim yelled, tearing off after him, stopping in surprise as he watched the man jump straight up, grabbing a hold of the fire escape, and scurry up the outer edge to the roof. Recovering, Tim shot his grapple up onto the building, and pulled himself up, shocked again when he got to the top and saw the guy standing on the opposite edge of the roof, shaking his head.

“Getting slow, _Robin_. Gotta do better than that if you wanna play in the big leagues.” And with that, he jumped, and Tim ran to the edge to watch as the guy landed on the neighboring building, going into a roll that didn’t slow him down at all. He pulled himself to his feet, gave Tim a little wave, and took off at a dead run.

“Batman, suspect is running west into the Bowery; I’m in pursuit. Rooftops on Jamison.”

“Negative, Robin, pull back and wait for Nightwing.”

“Negative, Batman,” Tim ground out, leaping from building to building after the guy, a bit impressed at the hard pace he was setting, and more than a bit irritated at the running commentary.

“C’mon, Robin, this wasn’t how I wanted to spend my night; I’ve got six more bodies I gotta hang up! You’re messin’ with my artistic vision, bud!”

“You could always just give yourself up!” Tim yelled back, throwing a batarang at his leg, brow furrowing as -seemingly by instinct -he jumped up, avoiding the projectile and leaping to the next building in a single motion, never stopping.

“Don’t you have _actual_ criminals to bother? Go away!”

“You _are_ a criminal, you idiot! Or did you think _murder_ was okay?!”

“Well, I mean, I’m murdering _actual_ criminals, so, more like a public service, really!” The guy yelled, before hooking a hard left, and free jumping across the actual street, easily a thirty foot distance, and Tim fully expected to see a splattered mess in a leather jacket when he got to the edge. So he cursed when he seen that the lunatic had actually cleared the distance, and was busily pulling himself up onto the roof, that impressed/irritated feeling returning.

Groaning to himself, Tim grappled the distance, hearing people below him gasping in surprise, realizing that there was no way his passage through the Bowery was going to go unnoticed.

“You’re starting to irritate me, _Robin_! You’re not gonna like what happens when I get irritated!” The guy called back from the next rooftop.

“Is that so, _Dr. Banner_?” Tim yelled back. "You gonna go all green on me?"

“I’m serious, Baby Bird: _back off_! Or you’re not gonna like what comes next!”

Tim came out of a roll, and barely avoided a work-boot to the head, belatedly realizing that the man had stopped, and had pulled back into a krav maga ready stance after throwing the kick.

“Last chance, Baby Bird: you’re _seriously_ starting to piss me off. Run back to the nest before this goes bad. Last warning.”

Tim growled as he pulled his bo-staff off his back, and pushed the button to extend it out to its full length of six foot. “You wanna talk about pissed? Buddy, you have no _idea_.”

 

* * *

 

Dick followed behind Bruce, gracefully leaping from building to building, following Tim’s tracking device blipping on his scanner.

“There!” Bruce barked, coming to a halt.

Dick could feel his heart leap into his throat as he slid to a stop next to Bruce, the scene across the street sending a familiar wave of nausea through him.

A guy dressed in what looked like biker leathers, wearing some sort of red helmet, had Tim by the edge of the roof, his bloodied head and upper torso hanging over the building, as the biker lashed out again and again, pummeling the too-still Tim, before reaching down, and fiddling with Tim’s head.

“Can you hear me, Batman? You listening?”

“I hear you,” Bruce ground out, motioning for Dick to remain silent as the creep’s voice came over the comm line.

“Good. I told him to back off; I really didn’t wanna do this tonight.” The guy almost sounded regretful. “But he didn’t want to wait for backup. You can see how well this whole thing went down for him. I didn't want this to happen, but he wouldn't back off.”

“I swear to God, if you –“

“If I hurt him? Too late. If I kill him? What’re you gonna do about it, huh? You gonna _kill_ me?” All trace of remorse was gone, a sharp edge replacing it. “Think we all know that ain’t gonna happen. Tell me something, Batman: you gettin’ slow in your old age? Gee, I really hope not.”

Dick could only watch, jaw dropped in horror as the man picked Tim up, and threw him over the edge of the building.


	6. Tired Of The Way That Things Have Been

Jason was panting heavily, feeling the rage still coursing through his veins as made his way back to the abandoned building he was currently squatting in. As he climbed over the debris, and through the boarded up windows, the excited chattering of the kids could be heard.

“He totally kicked Robin’s _ass_!”

“It was fuckin’ _beautiful_ , man,” Gabriela said, her voice almost evilly gleeful. “Robin thought ‘cause he had some sort of stupid stick thing, he was gonna kick Hood’s ass, and then fuckin’ _bam_! He beat the little twerp’s face in!”

“Aw, that’s not _fair_! We got to sit and watch them all bitch at each other, and take stupid pictures,” Rafael groaned. “And seriously, anybody who thinks those three are scary ain’t ever heard ‘em bitchin’ at each other like fuckin’ soccer moms. Hood is so much cooler.”

Jason dropped down from the window, feeling the last of his anger dissipating as he looked at the kids laying around the ruined building.

When he’d seen that Fitz’s Fresh Foods had been abandoned -apparently, Dick had relocated Pat and Katie to one of his apartments in Blüdhaven during the thing with the Joker, and they’d never moved back -he’d spent two days turning it into a semi-livable area behind the debris, hiding a few entrances, and making the rest of it inaccessible.

So now the kids sat around a portable generator, a kerosene heater, a few standing garage lights, and a mound of sleeping bags.

“Hey, man, you’re back! Dude, that fight was epic!” Tony said, grinning from ear to ear as he grabbed Jason’s hands, practically hanging from his fingers. He said he wasn’t sure how old he was, but Jason figured his age about five, maybe six at most. “Robin: zero, Red Hood: 1.”

Jason quirked one eyebrow underneath the helmet. “Red Hood?”

Gabriela rolled her eyes as she grabbed Tony, pulling him off of Jason, and shoving him over towards the sleeping bags. “Yeah. We had to call you something, and ‘the man’ just wasn’t doin’ it for us, ese. Tony came up with it.”

“It’s… not a hood. It’s a helmet,” Jason pointed out, flopping down on the ground next to Seven and Eight, or Mike and Kaylie, and motioning for them to deal him in, pulling a handful of candy out and setting it in front of him. “What’s the game?”

“Black jack.”

“You guys get anything good?”

Rafael plopped down across from him, and the two dealt him in. “Not really. Apparently Robin’s pissed about bodies droppin’, and Batman’s pissed because of something that happened a while ago that involved bodies dropping. Not too much other than that. Well, other than that Robin’s actual name is Tim according to the guy dressed like a huge bruise.”

Jason grinned at that, as he reached up and took the helmet off, and lightly tossing it on his own bedroll near the entrance. “So the Bat family’s losing it in the field now. Interesting. Hey! I saw that!” Kaylie grinned sheepishly as she took the card out of her sleeve, and shuffled it back into the deck, and Jason turned his attention back to Raf. “So nothing interesting.”

Raf shook his head. “Nope. Apparently, I missed all the good stuff. Next time, Gabi can go play spy while I follow you around.”

They passed the next few hours in relative relaxation, playing cards, or two of the board games Jason had picked up from Wal Mart, before Gabi started pushing the younger ones off to bed. Within minutes, it was only him, Gabi, Raf, and Adam -their second, if Jason had to put a rank on it -sitting around the entrance, away from the sleeping kids, enjoying a cigarette.

“Hey, Hood, how’d you get that?” Adam asked, breaking the silence, and pointing to Jason’s head.

Instinctively, his hand went to his cheek, before realizing there was nothing there, and the kid was talking about his hair. So he shrugged, shoving his hand back in his pocket. “Dunno,” He lied smoothly. “Just showed up two years ago.”

“You should dye it,” Gabi said matter-of-factly. “Makes you stand out. And if you’re gonna take on Batman, you don’t want somethin’ that recognizable, yeah?”

Raf scoffed loudly. “He’s wearing a _helmet_ , _boba_ ,” He said, rolling his eyes. “Ain’t like they’re gonna see it.”

“And I’m not here to take on the Bat Family,” Jason added sternly.

“Oh, c’mon, Hood!” Adam interjected. “You could actually teach those assholes somethin’, ya know? You kicked Robin’s ass without even breakin’ a sweat. Little bitch,” He added, spitting on the ground at his feet.

Jason quirked one eyebrow. “I’ve been gone a few years, but kids like you used to worship the guy; what the hell happened?”

Adam stared at him for a minute, his eyes filling with tears, before he ground out his cigarette, and stomped off to his bed roll. Jason looked helplessly at Gabi and Raf.

“His mamà was one of the ones Joker used to send a message to Batman a few years ago; then one of guys Robin caught was released on a technicality, an’ came back, and killed his sister a year after that,” Gabi said quietly.

“Shit,” Jason said, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah. I mean, I get why Batman’s a hero to those pendejos up in the Heights, or the Diamond district; he manages to keep them safe. But to us down here? He ain’t a hero. Look at Tony’s papà; Batman ‘saved’ him from a mugger, convinced him to testify, try an’ send him to jail, yeah? Surprise, surprise, they let the fucker out after six months. First thing he does is hunt ‘em down, rape Tony an’ his sister, an’ then kill the old man, right in front of them,” Raf said with a shrug. “Shit like that’s been buildin’ down here for a while, but after the whole mess with Arkham an’ all that? Ain’t nobody want Batman’s ‘help’ no more. He just gets people killed.”


	7. Can't Fight This Forever

Jason snuck away from the group, making his way outside as quietly as he could; it was useless, he knew that, and he was proven right when both Raf and Gabi’s eyes opened, heads turning towards him, although they didn’t say anything, simply watching him, as he maneuvered through the debris, and out onto Gotham streets, the sun barely starting its rise over the city. Pulling his hood up over his face, he hauled himself up onto the fire escape with ease, and nestled himself into the corner of the utility shed, before pulling out one of his burner phones from his pocket, and quickly dialing the number he knew by heart. It rang once, twice, and then there was silence on the other end for a moment.

“Talia.”

“Tayiri. I haven’t heard from you since you landed on American soil,” She said, her voice vaguely reproaching. “How was your homecoming?” Jason made an ‘eh’ noise, and she clicked her tongue at him “I have business to attend to, Tayiri. While I do enjoy hearing your voice, I would _prefer_ if you could get to the matter at hand. I presume you called me for a reason, and not a friendly chat.”

Jason sighed, letting the breath pop over his lips as he did. “I uh… I mighta beaten the hell outta Robin,” He said, trying to keep his voice casual.

He could practically hear her disapproving silence over the phone for a few seconds before she spoke. “I see. Would this, perhaps, have something to do with the headless bodies that made national news?”

“You uh… you heard about that, huh?”

“I keep tabs on those I consider ‘ _mine_ ’, Tayiri. And you have a flair for the dramatic. It was easy enough to put two and two together. Now what happened with your father's newest son?”

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Jason blurted out. “I just… Robin spotted me last night, and he chased me. I was… in the _middle_ of something, and he interrupted.”

“I take it by your word choice that you didn’t tell your father about your return?”

“No.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I don’t _need_ him, Talia! We both know he’d just try an' stop me.”

“Ah, yes. In your quest to kill the one known as ‘Joker’. He probably would. Your father can be stubborn and pigheaded about that.”

“No, not just to… It doesn’t _matter_! I lost control, and I… I seriously fucked him up. Like, I beat his face in, and I don’t think I would’ve stopped if him and Nightwing hadn’t spotted me doin’ it. It jarred me enough that I got some control. But if they hadn't shown up when they did... Talia, I don't know if I woulda stopped.”

Talia sighed, and Jason could hear her tell someone -in Mandarin -that her meeting would have to wait five minutes, before she spoke again.

“You knew this was a possibility, Tayiri. We talked about potential side effects. You assured me you could handle it. Have you changed your mind?”

“I don’t know! I thought –“

“Tayiri!” She snapped, and Jason instantly quieted. “Do _not_ lose yourself here. Yes, you kept your temper here at the compound, even when other students attempted to kill you. But this is your _family,_ and no one can anger a person like family can. Only you can decide your next step. If you wish, I will funnel you money, and you can set yourself up anywhere you like; you like the warm tropics, I could set something up in South America, or Pacific Islands if you like. Or you can stay in Gotham, and deal with whatever consequences that course of action brings. Now. Am I sending you money, or should I continue to watch the news for your latest exploits?”

Jason took a deep breath, and released it slowly. “I’m fine. I’m good. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“You are never a _bother_ , Tayiri,” She said, her voice softening. “You are a bird first leaving the nest, and struggling with how to fly. You _will_ learn, but you cannot _panic_ at the first sign of hardship. Whether or not you have faith in your self-control, I do. If I didn’t believe you capable of control, I wouldn’t have sent you home. Now: right yourself, and return to your projects.”

“Okay. Okay, thanks, Talia.”

“Of course. Oh, Tayiri?”

“Yeah?”

“That was truly an inventive, and impressive display, if a bit… _in the open_ … for my tastes,” She said, and Jason could hear the touch of pride in her voice. “I await news of your next step. Goodbye, Tayiri.”

Jason stared at the phone for a minute, before sliding it into his pocket, and leaning back against the wall of the building.

“Hood?”

“Jesus, Gabi, what the hell?!” He cursed, her voice sending him scrambling to his feet. “You spyin’ on me now?”

She rolled her eyes, as she moved into the shed, sitting cross-legged across from him, and pulling a cigarette from her pocket, idly twirling her fingers. “No. I just wanted to see if you wanted…” She stopped, chewing on her lip for a moment, and Jason felt a wave of sadness wash over him; like this, she looked like the child she truly was, a thirteen year old child, rather than the tough, street-wise persona she put on. “It’s stupid, I get it, I know you’re a badass, but… I just… If you need someone to uh… to talk to, ya know, I’m uh… I’m here.”

He chuckled, lighting his own cigarette, and staring out over Gotham. “I appreciate the offer, Gabi, but uh… Think this sort of thing is a little out of your league.”

“What, you killin’ people? C’mon, _ese_ , we both know better than that. So you enjoy it a bit more than some, but ya know what? Those _cabròns_ got what they deserved. Every one of them. An’ you’re… well, you’re doin’ bad things, so you can do good things, yeah?”

“It’s not that, Gabriela, it’s… I know y’all think I did some great thing when I beat the shit outta Robin, but…”

“But he’s your family.” The simplicity of her words sent a wave of both shock and panic through Jason, and he nearly choked on his cigarette, but she simply shrugged. “We ain’t stupid. Or at least, I ain’t. Dunno if the others put it together yet, but it’s sorta obvious. Ain’t nobody ‘round here fight like you do, ‘cept for the Bats. An’ if Nightwing could stop bein’ Robin, and set up somewhere else, figure he’s not the first one to do it. ‘Sides, you didn’t seem all that surprised when Raf told ya his name was ‘Tim’. Figure you were a Robin at some point.”

Jason eyed her carefully, weighing his options before he spoke softly. “So what’re you gonna do with that information, Gabriela?”

She grinned at him, finally lighting her own cigarette. “Like there’s something I could do? C’mon, ese, even if I wanted to, what am I gonna do? Go screaming that Robin’s killin’ bad guys in the Bowery? Even if anybody would believe me… who’s gonna care? ‘Sides, after everything you’ve done for us… I ain’t tellin’ nobody nothin’. But if you need to talk, I’m here. Or not. It’s whatever.”

 

* * *

 

Alfred was already waiting in the infirmary when Dick and Bruce carried Tim in, setting him down gently on the examination table.

“What happened?” The older man asked, unperturbed as he began cleaning Tim’s face with a warm washcloth.

Dick looked over at Bruce, but when the older man said nothing, he spoke. “I don’t even know. He decided to chase the guy who left the bodies on the bridge, and… Alfred, whoever this guy was, he wiped the freakin’ _floor_ with him,” Dick said, his voice hardening a bit. “From what Oracle put together, Tim couldn’t even land a hit with his staff. That takes some serious skill.”

“Indeed. There aren’t many who can get close enough to inflict this level of damage with their fists versus someone with a six foot staff,” Alfred agreed. “Master Bruce? Thoughts?”

Bruce shook his head as he sat down. “I don’t know, Alfred. Tim could give me a run for my money with that staff; I would beat him in the end, but according to the footage Barbara recovered, this fight was over in forty-two seconds, and Tim only got one, non-vital blow in. I don’t know if I could do that,” He admitted quietly. “Not that quickly, not in a one-on-one. Tim’s damn good on defense with that staff.”

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Dick spoke, his eyes glued to Alfred’s hands as the older man began stitching and bandaging the cuts on Tim’s face. “So… anything for suspects?”

“I can’t think of anyone from Gotham. The League, maybe, but they haven’t showed any interest in Gotham, or us, in quite a few years.”

“And I can’t see the League hanging a bunch of headless bodies from Sprang Bridge,” Dick added.

“Exactly. A meta from out of town, looking to make his mark in Gotham?”

“But then why the bats carved into their chests?”

Bruce shrugged. “Trying to prove a point? Look at what I can do?”

“Yeah, but why target criminals? Maybe a wannabe vigilante?”

“One who’s well-trained, and looking to prove a point,” Bruce said darkly. “One who’s not afraid to kill. Who actually enjoys it, based off of his conversations with Tim.”

“Awesome,” Dick said darkly. “Just what we needed.”


	8. Send My Regards To Hell

Six Days Later

James McCarthy jolted awake, heart beat racing, and breathing heavily, unsure what had woken him as he sat up, his eyes slowly readjusting to the darkness.

Then his eyes fell on the figure sitting in one of his kitchen chairs, a few feet from the edge of his bed.

“What the _fuck_?!” He cursed, reaching under his pillow for his 9 mil, scrambling in desperation as he searched. Had the damn thing fallen between the wall and the bed? Where the fuck was it?

“Lookin’ for this?”

James’ eyes jerked to the man, horror rising in his chest as he watched the bastard twirl _his gun_ around his gloved fingers. In the dim light, he could barely make out the devious grin on the man’s face.

“Ya know, it’s funny… When I was plannin’ this little party, I actually put my hood on. But then I thought… Jason, why bother? Oh, my name’s Jason, by the way,” He added, his voice conversational, like they were talking about the fucking weather. “But I thought to myself, Jason, why bother with it? It’s not like the piece of shit is gonna tell anyone who you are, right?”

“The fuck do you _want_ , man?!” James demanded, pushing back against the wall. “The fuck are you _doin’_ here?!”

“Hmm? Oh, right. I’m delivering a message.”

James’ eyes narrowed, and he felt a bit of the fear leave him as he sat up straighter. “Seriously, asshole? Lance gave me ‘til the end of the fuckin’ _week_ ; he’ll get his fuckin’ money. This shit –“ He motioned around the room “-is fuckin’ unnecessary. Go tell your boss I’ll get him his money.”

The man chuckled, leaning forward, and resting his arms on his knees. “James, James, James… I dunno who ‘ _Lance’_ is, or what you owe him money for. Don’t care, to be honest. I’m here about Kylie. You remember Kylie, right, James?”

“Man, that fuckin’ bitch is _gone_. Dunno who told you ‘bout her, but she took off last _year_. You want her, go look in the gutters somewhere. Or the morgue,” He added with a dark laugh. “You’re outta luck if you were after that ass.”

The man pursed his lips together, nodding a bit, before scratching at his head with the barrel of the gun, the dark of the metal contrasting sharply with the large white patch in the center of his hair. “Yeah. Yeah. Remind me again, how old was she?”

“Shit, man, I dunno. Nine? Ten?”

“Mmhmm, I see. Little old for your use, I bet. They start goin’ through puberty, startin’ to look like a woman instead of a girl. That why you got the one in the other room?”

James glared. “Look, asshole, even if she _was_ ready -and she ain’t, I ain’t trained her yet -you come into my fuckin’ _home_ , takin’ my piece, wantin’ one a my girls? _Fuck you_ , asshole, that ain’t how this _works_. Dunno who told you ‘bout me, but there’s a way this shit’s _done_ , an’ guess what? This ain’t fuckin’ it. Now give me back my gun, come back in the mornin’, an’ we can set up a place, time, an’ price,” He said hotly. Sure, like hell he was gonna make a deal with the bastard after this mess, but he’d meet him at the door tomorrow, fill him with hot lead.

The guy chuckled again. “James, man… you _seriously_ misunderstood my intentions here tonight, bud. See, I ain’t here to _buy_. Originally, I came here jus’ to give Kylie some closure, or some shit. Dunno if it’s actually gonna do anything for her, but hey… The thought that counts, right?”

James felt his blood run cold as the guy met his gaze, the jovial, guy-next-door attitude disappearing in those harsh blue eyes, as the man stood, moving around to the side of the bed, gun trained on James’ forehead.

“But then… _Then_ I spotted the little girl in the next room. Where’d you get her, James? She ain’t yours; you grab her off the streets? She got a mom an’ dad lookin’ for her, Jimmy?” James went to speak, but the guy pressed the barrel against James’ mouth, stopping him. “Think hard about what you say next, Jimmy. ‘Cause it’s gonna determine how the rest of your night goes.”

James shook his head, trying to control the shivering running through him as the asshole pulled the gun back. “No, no, I… I found her. Livin’ in one of the shelters.”

The man shook his head sadly, and quicker than James could see, lashed out, the pistol connecting with the side of his head like a snake.

“Try again, Jimmy. That’s strike one.”

“Man, the fuck it matter to you?! She ain’t _yours_ ; why the fuck you doin’ this?!”

James couldn’t stop the yelp that escaped as the man grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him off the bed, and slamming him against the wall, barrel of the gun pressed straight against his the center of his head.

“She’s a fuckin’ _kid_ , you _goddamn_ piece of _shit_ ,” He growled, his voice low. “A seven-year-old fuckin’ _kid_. Now I’m gonna ask you again, one more fuckin’ time: _where did you get her_?”

James could feel the piss running down his leg as he pleaded, “Please, man, don’t do this. You don’t wanna do this. Please, oh God, don’t do this, please.”

“Oh, you’re gonna beg? Tell me somethin’, Jimmy: did Kylie _beg_? The little girl in the next room _beg_? You tell ‘em they learn to beg prettily enough, you’d go easy on ‘em? Tell me, Jimmy, did beggin’ ever do them any good?”

“Please, man, please… please, please, oh God, please, oh shit…” His muttered litany of pleas abruptly stopped as the man charged the chamber, the metal sliding back and clicking forward the loudest noise James had ever heard.

“ _Who is she_?! I’m not gonna fuckin’ ask again!”

“Her name was Annie, Annie, Annie… Annie Ford!” James blubbered, closing his eyes, trying to hold back his tears. “I grabbed her from Ninth street. White house, green shutters! Two story, duplex! I swear, man, that’s the truth, that’s the truth, please, oh shit, man, don’t fuckin’ kill me, _please_!”

James jumped when he felt the man slap his face lightly, daring to open his eyes enough to see that he’d pulled the gun away, tucking it into the back of his pants.

“Oh, c’mon, man! I’m not gonna kill you… With a bullet.”

His voice went from kidding to deadly in a moment, and James could feel the tears running down, mixing with snot, as he met those blue eyes again.

“That’d be too quick.”

 

* * *

 

“Bruce.” Bruce turned towards Tim, who was sitting in front of the television in the large family room, tape wrapped around his ribs, stitches decorating his bruised face, and he pointed towards the screen with the remote. “Think our guy struck again.”

Bruce moved fully into the room, coming to a stop behind the couch, focusing his attention on the TV.

“… Vicki Vale, reporting live from in front of the I-26 Bridge, where police received a call about yet _another_ body hung from a bridge, bringing the grand total up to fourteen bodies in the last week. Please, if you have young children watching, be advised that the following images are not appropriate for children.”

The camera panned over, and showed a picture of what had once, probably, been a human male -the general build pointed towards a male, although the head and face had been beaten into an unrecognizable pulp. The rest of the mostly naked body -clad only in a pair of now-stained-red underwear -was covered in cuts, bruises, and gunshot wounds. Hanging around the neck was a sign, reading, ‘child rapist’.

“Seems like he’s stickin’ to a pattern,” Tim said darkly. “I don’t approve, but at least nobody’s mourning over his victims.”


	9. Nothing More To Say

“Seems like this was either a really good time to come home, or a really bad time,” Dick commented, in-between a mouthful of food. Barbara rolled her eyes, swatting at his hand as he tried grabbing another biscuit.

“Seriously, Dick? You’ve still got one on your plate, and one in your mouth,” She chided. “You’re lucky Alfred’s not here, he’d whack your hands with a spoon. And don’t think I didn’t see that, Tim,” She added, shooting a look at her husband, having caught the slight smirk that flashed across his face, softening it to a smile as he gave her his ‘what, me?’ look, before growing serious again.

“It’s good for us,” Tim said, setting his fork and knife on his plate next to each other, and then setting his still-flawless napkin to the left. “We’re not having any luck finding this guy; the only thing we’re getting is snippets of him leaving the scenes, and that’s coming from the CCTV footage Barbara’s finding after the fact. We’re trying to stay incognito in the rougher areas, which obviously makes it harder, but even still… It’s like this guy knows where the cameras are, knows how to avoid them.” He paused for a moment, before shaking his head. “Whoever he is, he’s a pro, and that’s about the only thing we know about him.”

“Yeah, but a pro at _what_?” Dick asked, pieces of biscuit falling from his mouth to his plate. He at least had the good graces to look chagrined, giving Barbara an embarrassed grin, before swallowing, and starting again. “Everybody’s got their thing, right? Back at the carnival, we had people who could pull all sorts of cons. Like Ms. Layla, our psychic, she’d get people to give her all the information she needed to steal their identity, while supposedly ‘talking’ to their dead relatives, but our magician’s assistant could grab your wallet, take the cash, and put it back in your pocket so quick you’d never realize what happened until you were on your way home. But Ms. Layla wouldn’t try to pickpocket somebody, and Chloe wouldn’t try to fast-talk somebody, see what I’m saying?” When both Tim and Barbara gave him matching quizzical looks, he sighed, putting his silverware down, and leaning back in the chair, hands folded behind his head. “It means that this guy might be a ‘pro’, but what’s he a pro at? What’s his specialty? Figure out what he does, we might be able to figure out who he is.”

“He’s a good fighter,” Tim said ruefully, his hand drifting to the new scar on his cheek, where the man’s fists had split the flesh open.

“No, more detailed than that,” Dick said, waving his hand dismissively. “How’d he fight?”

“Krav, and Muay Thai, that I recognized,” Barbara said quickly. “I couldn’t pick up much more than that from the video, but the rest seemed almost like a hodge-podge blend. Like he was familiar enough with a bunch of styles that they’re all muscle memory to him. He didn’t have to think about it much.”

“Okay. What else?”

“Other than that incident with Tim, we haven’t gotten more than five to ten seconds of video footage of him at one time. Which is impressive, given the amount of cameras I have access too.”

“And he’s flashy; he’s got a showman’s sense of style,” Tim added. “This thing with the bodies on the bridge, it’s more than just a message; he’s enjoying the attention. It’s not personal enough to be ‘just’ a message. And he loves to hear himself talk.”

“And, in his own way, I think he thinks he’s doing a good thing,” Barbara added reluctantly. “His conversation with Tim, the way he lets the world know exactly why he killed those he killed… He thinks he’s dishing out frontier style justice.”

Dick nodded, leaning forward again. “Okay. So we’ve got a show-off, who knows two of the most lethal martial arts forms of martial arts, from Israel and Thailand, whose out to punish Gotham’s criminals, and knows how to avoid being spotted.”

As Dick’s words sunk in, the three avoided looking at each other for a moment, before Tim finally spoke up again.

“Other than the show-off… You could be talking about Bruce,” He said quietly.

“Bruce doesn’t kill,” Dick said quickly. “There’s a _world_ of difference between Bruce, and this guy.”

“No, there’s a fine red line,” Tim insisted stubbornly. “Bruce might not kill, and he _tries_ to avoid permanent damage, but that’s the only difference.”

Barbara chewed on her lip for a moment, trying to think. There had to be more to it than that; because at the end of the day, Tim wasn’t exactly wrong. And on rare occasions, when he was in an odd mood, Bruce wasn’t above showing off either, if the right target presented itself. He didn’t do the flashy, mouthy thing that Dick did, but he wasn’t above playing with his prey either. Honestly, they all had more in common with the new vigilante than any of them would like to admit, if she was being objective.

It was a conversation they’d all had, at numerous times, with each other, with Alfred, and even on occasion, Bruce himself. What justified _their_ brand of vigilantism, and not someone else’s? The only thing that separated them from others was the fact that they tried to minimize damage; they weren’t always successful, and when push came to shove, none of them had any qualms about seriously injuring someone, either. They all had a certain flavor of criminal that got under their skin, criminals who they might not set out to hurt, but ones that they wouldn’t feel guilty over paralyzing either.

She personally hated rapists, and domestic abusers, and during her tenure as Batgirl had gone out of her way to hunt people like that down, aided by her access to the GCPD files. Tim disliked those in positions of authority who abused those positions, to take advantage, or harm, those under them, or less fortunate, using his computer skills to bring down white collar criminals with a devious enjoyment. Dick hated on haters, going after racists, homophobes, and sexists with glee, taunting all the while.

Bruce, of course, reserved his righteous fury for murderers of all stripes.

_Speaking of…_

“Has anyone else noticed this guy has a taste for people who hurt kids? I mean, sure, those first twelve were gang bruisers, but they all has priors or reputations for hurting kids, or dealing to kids.”

“Doesn’t make what he’s doing right,” Dick interjected. “We’re not –“

“-the law, I know,” She said in irritation. “I got the same speech you did, Dick, I don’t need to hear it again. I’m just saying, this guy definitely has a type. Other crimes -drugs, murder, gang affiliations, whatever -all come second; he’s going after people who hurt kids, and filling in the blanks with the other crimes.”

Dick sighed defeatedly, as he pulled his feet up under him, balancing on the back of the chai, the room going quiet for a few minutes, before he chuckled sadly. “You know… For a while… Back when he first popped up? I kinda thought… well, I kinda _hoped_ , really… That it was Jason. Gotta admit, he probably would’ve loved this guy; he’s going after the sort of people Jason hated.”

“You weren’t the only one thinking it,” Barbara said softly, the forlorn look on his face making her ignore the way he was treating her furniture. “Tim and I talked about it, but there’s no way that’s Jason, Dick.”

“I know.”

“He could barely put weight on his ankle for more than a minute; there’s no way he could leap around like that.”

“I _know_.”

“And what that guy did to Tim? No way Jason would be capable of that; I’m not saying Jason couldn’t hold his own in a fight, but to take Tim out like that? Even before, I don’t know if he could’ve done it. Definitely not after.”

“I said _I know_!” He snapped, popping the front legs of the chair back onto the floor with a resounding crack, before getting up and pacing. “I _get_ it, okay? He was too fucked up to be this guy; he was too broken, _I get it_!”

She glanced over at Tim, who was pointedly staring out the window, ignoring the two of them, as he always did when the topic of Jason came up, and she only just resisted the urge to throw her hands up in frustration.

Tim refused to help look for Jason; fine, she could live with that, even if she disagreed with it at the end of the day. She could deal with him refusing to talk about Jason, when it came right down to it. Most days, she could even deal with the fact that he’d told Jason everything, leading to Jason bolting.

Dick, on the other hand, didn’t deal with it nearly as well. While he wasn’t as vocal about it as Bruce, he definitely held a grudge about it; it didn’t help that he blamed himself for it, despite there being nothing he could’ve done differently. Oh sure, he never came out and said that, but twelve years knowing a person let you know what they were feeling pretty accurately. Whenever he talked about Jason, it was to talk about all the things they’d done as brothers; how much he’d loved having a little brother. Everything about Jason was framed as Dick’s little brother, the little bird in the family, to the point where Barbara was pretty sure -she was dead sure, actually -that he was romanticizing a lot of their history.

Sure, they’d been close, and had had a big brother/little brother relationship, but that had included a lot of fights, and arguments, a lot of disappointment, and angry words. But Dick had apparently forgotten all of that, intent on focusing on only the good aspects of Jason.

At least, it was a step up from how Bruce had handled it all, though. He still barely talked to Tim outside of patrol, and outright refused to say Jason’s name, or to even talk about him, unless it was in reference to the search to find him. Even then, it was always things like, ‘there was a sighting’, or ‘I might have a lead in the search’. Never a name, and never anything more than that.

Which often made it seem like she was dealing with her own grief and regret all on her own; that she had no one to really talk about Jason to, without running the risk of upsetting somebody.

“It’s late.” Tim’s words cut through her thoughts, and both she and Dick turned to look at him, where he was staring out the sliding glass door to the patio, watching the sun starting to rise. “We should all probably get some sleep. B’s going to want us out bright and early tonight. Whoever this guy is, he hasn’t dropped a body in two days, which means we’re overdue for a new show.”


	10. How We Survive

Jason watched, a grin on his face, as Gabi and Adam helped the younger kids pull their ‘new’ -used from a thrift store, but still nicer than anything most of them had worn in years -out of bags, laughing and giggling in delight as they play-fought over the new clothes, shoes, and blankets Jason had picked up, tossing them around the small living area.

“Hey, Gabi, Kylie,” He called, motioning them towards him, and the two followed him further into the building, into what used to be the kitchen area, before he handed each of them the last two bags he carried. “I uh… I didn’t know about sizes, or stuff like that, but uh… I hope they fit.”

Kylie dug into the bag ravenously, while Gabriela moved with slightly more dignity -dignity that quickly vanished, both squealing happily as they pulled sports bras and feminine pads out.

“Ohmigod, thank you, Hood!” Kylie exclaimed, pulling him into a bear hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He ruffled her curly brown hair affectionately. “Don’t mention it, kid.”

She bounced off happily, clutching the clothes to her chest, leaving him alone with Gabi, who was eyeing the gray plastic bag suspiciously.

“Hood, did you actually buy these at Wal-Mart?”

He rolled his eyes, going to lean against the old oven, before seeing the grease-coated surface, and thinking better of it, settling for just folding his arms across his chest. “They don’t sell bras and shit at the thrift store. ‘Sides, ain’t like I paid for it; all courtesy of a…” He paused for a moment, pulling the wallet out of his pocket, and glancing at the ID as they walked back to the front with the other kids. “Mr. Nicholas Miller. He sends his regards.”

“What’d this one do?” Rafael asked, from his spot by the main entrance, sitting with his feet stretched over the pathway anyone would have to take to come in, arms folded behind his head, his gaze never moving from the other kids as Adam helped the younger ones tie their shoes.

Jason shrugged, moving over, and settling himself down opposite of the younger boy. “Drug dealer. Had to send the Black Mask a message. Poor Mr. Miller just happened to be the first one a his goons I spotted.”

“You sure that’s smart? Hey, don’t give me that look, _ese_ , I’m jus’ sayin’, we got a pretty good thing goin’ here. Takin’ out some small fries, fuckers nobody would care ‘bout? By all means, ‘Hood’, message away. But goin’ after the Black Mask? He got to where he is for a reason, an’ it ain’t ‘cause a how nice he is, yeah? _Cabron’s_ pretty damn good at sendin’ messages himself, man, an’ I ain’t gonna sit here an’ watch that blow back on my kids, yeah?”

Jason nodded seriously. “It won’t, Rafael. I won’t let nothin’ happen to any of you. I promise.”

Raf shook his head, a sad smile on his face as he looked over at the kids, his gaze moving to Gabi as she helped the kids create makeshift beds with the new blankets.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Hood,” He said quietly, never looking away from his sister. “I ain’t stupid, ese; whoever you used to be, ‘fore you went away, you lived _here_. You know how shit works here, an’ you know you can’t make promises ‘bout keepin’ bad shit from happenin’. Not here.”

Jason opened his mouth to argue, before closing it abruptly, and finally nodding. “Fair enough. Hadn’t really thought about it, but if you want, I’ll stop hangin’ out here; I’ll just drop shit off, an’ stay away.”

It was a fair enough point, and a fair enough trade; when he took his fight to the Black Mask, anyone around him was probably gonna get hurt; crime lords got to where they were by being ruthless; the fact that Jason’s kids were just that -kids -wouldn’t matter at all to the Black Mask.

“ ‘M not sayin’ that, I’m jus’ sayin’… Black Mask ain’t a person to fuck with, ese. Might not be as scary as the Joker, but he’ll still leave ya wishin’ you were dead. An’ maybe you can hold your own ‘gainst him an’ his gang… Maybe Gabi, Adam an’ me could outrun ‘em, hide long enough to get outta town. Kylie and Donny, too maybe. But Tony? Mikey, John, Logan, an’ Paul? Shit, no way they’d survive that. Hell, Paul an’ Logan still fresh enough off the streets, they’d probably spread their legs ‘fore one a the Black Mask’s goons looked at them sideways,” Raf said, his eyes soft, and face hard, as he stared at the two boys in question.

Jason looked at them too. Paul definitely still had the casual hardness that came with being a kid working the corner, that walk that all the boy hookers picked up quick, a mix of cockiness, and a way of swinging their hips that was distinctly sexual, pure advertisement written on the pouty lips. Logan, on the other hand, from what Jason could pick up, hadn’t actually worked the corner, but somebody had conditioned him young and early that ‘gratitude’ was expected for basic survival needs, and was still learning that he didn’t have to drop to his knees anytime someone did something nice for him.

 “Raf, I… I don’t know what you want me to say, man,” He said finally. “I came back here for a reason, kid. An’ as much as I like you guys… It ain’t why I’m here. I wish I could just… let it go,” He added softly. “I mean, what we got here? Ain’t half bad. I wish I could just… keep doin’ this with you guys. But I can’t.”

 

* * *

 

“Still at it, sir? I thought you’d be out on patrol by now,” Alfred said dryly, setting down a cup of hot tea down by Bruce, who shook his head, never looking away from his computer screens.

“No; with Nightwing in town for a few weeks, I’m letting him and Robin do patrol for the night, while Oracle and I work on this new vigilante.”

“About that, sir. I had a thought.”

Bruce looked up and over, staring intently at the man. “What’s on your mind, Alfred?”

“Well, sir, it seems to me that you’re assuming he’s a vigilante simply because he’s killing criminals.”

Because it was Alfred, he resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and make a sarcastic comment, settling for, “And you think otherwise?”

“Well, sir, I think you’re operating under an incorrect assumption in that aspect. I don’t think he’s going after these criminals because they’re criminals, but because of their crimes.”

“They target children.”

“Exactly, sir, but there’s more to it than that, I believe. These men, they aren’t just targeting any children, are they? They’re targeting the kids who live in the Bowery; the homeless, the forgotten, the abused… children who are already disadvantaged, and these men are taking advantage of that. For example, sir, there was recently the Delano case in the papers? The physical education teacher who was molesting students at Gotham Academy? If this hoodlum was simply looking to send a message to anyone who would harm children, that man would’ve been the perfect target. A high profile target, all over the media, who was hurting children? That would’ve been a message that would’ve grabbed the city’s attention.

“But he didn’t do that, did he, sir? Instead he targets no-name criminals, who people beyond the Bowery won’t notice; the only reason he’s gained the notoriety he has is because of where he’s leaving the victims. Even then, sir, he’s left eight more bodies on Crime Alley that have only barely been noticed by the police, and only then because of yours and Masters Richard and Timothy’s influence. This message isn’t for the city, although he isn’t opposed to the city noticing.

“No, I would say that this message is for a specific person. The initial showing -the twelve bodies on Sprang Bridge -were to get this person’s attention; he’s showing the bodies intermittently, as if just enough to ensure that he keeps this person’s attention.”

Bruce nodded slowly, an idea bouncing around in his head, set loose by Alfred’s theory. “I think it’s safe to say, then, that he’s targeting people who once targeted people like him.”

“I would say that’s fairly obvious psychology, sir.”

“So a two-pronged approach; vengeance who hurt kids like he was hurt, and sending a message to someone. But why the message? To his abuser? Trying to scare him before he goes after his intended target?”

“That, I’m afraid, sir, is out of my purview. But he's quite intent that the target of this message doesn't forget about him. I shudder to think what will happen if he thinks this mystery person isn't paying attention.”


	11. The Streets We Travel On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Weird mood tonight, guys, and this chapter is definitely dark. Very dark. While nothing happens _in_ this chapter, it's got graphic mentions of child kidnapping, child sexual abuse, child murder, forced underage prostitution... Again, a very dark chapter.

Raf rolled over, unable to sleep, silently groaning as he ended up on his back, staring at the ceiling for a moment, before pulling himself to his feet, stretching quietly.

He moved away from the exit, where he’d made his bed, and around behind the counter where Gabi had created the communal sleeping area, running a quick head count.

Gabi was curled up with Kylie back to back, and Tony pressed tight against her front, his small fingers entwined in her hair with one hand, curled up tight, and sucking his thumb with the other. Donny and John were tucked up underneath one of the counters, with Paul above them, pushed back tight against the wall on top of the bed he’d made on the plastic counter. Adam was in front of the doorway to the back entrance, Logan’s head on his lap, and a box cutter held tightly in his hand; he was shifting lightly in his sleep, but he didn’t wake, which was good. Adam didn’t sleep well most nights, and Raf would’ve been pissed if he’d woken him up.

He breathed a sigh of relief, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong as he went back to his bed, but he could only stare in dejection, knowing that the ‘wrong’ feeling deep in his gut was there to stay. So , with a sigh, he crawled his way out of the little tunnel, making sure to set the soda can trap over the entrance before he lightly pulled himself up onto the fire escape, climbing to the roof, where he seen an all too familiar face.

“What’s up, Raf? Can’t sleep?”

Raf took the older boy’s proffered cigarette, jumping up onto the ledge next to him, and settling in.

“Nah. One a those nights.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, before Raf finally looked up at the Hood.

“Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Shoot, kid.”

“What’s your story?” When the Hood gave him a look, Raf shrugged. “You heard all ours, ese; only fair.”

Hood chuckled darkly at that. “Believe it or not, I ain’t all that interesting, Raf. My story probably ain’t all that different from yours. Although, I feel the need to point out, I don’t know your story,” He said with a pointed look. “You were sort of right; you filled me in on everybody… ‘cept you an’ Gabi; you were real careful not to say anything ‘bout you two.”

Raf snorted. “Not much to tell. Guarantee it’s a story you’ve heard before, ese, an’ nobody cares ‘bout the small details, yeah?”

Hood stared over at him for a minute, his bright eyes unreadable, before he looked away again. “Lemme give you a piece of advice, Raf: life is _all_ about the little details. It’s what makes the story interesting. Without the details… we’re all jus’ the same person with the same sad story.”

“Yeah? So what ‘bout you, Hood? Your story got the ‘interestin’ little details?” Raf asked cheekily.

“That’s one way of puttin’ it,” Hood said with a snicker. “You uh… You might not believe it, but a few years ago… I was a uh… I was a real mess.”

Raf thought for a minute. “Well, it wasn’t drugs -you’re too controlled for that. Oh, c’mon, ese, don’t give me that look, you’re a control freak; you might a experimented when you were my age, but junkie? Nah.” He reached over, plucking the pack of cigarettes from the Hood’s pants pocket, and lighting another one. “So what happened?”

“Long story short? Kidnapped by the Joker, when I was about your age. He tortured me for a year and a half.”

Raf could feel his eyes widening, and he could feel his gut tightening, because… damn. Joker was a scary mother fucker, and most people didn’t survive brief encounters with the pendejo except through sheer dumb fucking luck.

But he knew better than to offer sympathy; one of the first things he’d learned when him and Gabi had hit the streets was that sympathy, or pity; neither was helpful, and they’d all survived whatever shitshow had happened; people in the Bowery in general, particularly the kids, weren’t victims -they were survivors, and while it might be a thin-line-difference in some places, in the Bowery it was the difference between those still up and walking, and those lying in one of the many cemeteries scattered around the city.

“How’d he get you?” He asked instead, finally handing the pack back.

Hood lit up one of his own. “I was… visiting family. Took off on my own, went somewhere I shouldn’t a went, and he was there. Grabbed me, took me back to Arkham. Fucker tortured me so bad, I couldn’t walk right; hell, even sleepin’ hurt some nights, I was so fucked up.”

“How’d you get better?”

The older boy chuckled again, flicking his cigarette over the edge, as he ducked his head. “Trust me, kid: I wouldn’t recommend it. One a those ‘ _the cure is as bad as the disease_ ’ sort a things.”

“Obviously not,” Raf pointed out. “ ‘Cause clearly, you ain’t lackin’ in the functionality department anymore.”

“There’s more to life than ‘functioning’, kiddo. An’ I’ve worked damn hard to make sure you guys don’t see me when the side effects hit.”

“We’ve seen the bodies you’ve dropped, ese,” Raf countered. “An’ I hate to tell ya, other than ‘efficiency’, your bodies ain’t any worse than anybody else’s.”

“You’ve seen _some_ of the bodies. And like a drug addiction, feedin’ the beast keeps it at bay. You kids’ve seen enough shit in your life; you don’t need that kinda thing burnt into your brains. The things I do… Let’s jus’ say I ain’t a hero, Raf. You see the bodies after I clean ‘em up to string ‘em up.

“Don’t get me wrong, man; I know what it’s like, the things you’ve seen, the things you’ve done… I’ve been there. But this is… different. You guys don’t need to see that; you might not have a lot of ‘innocence’ left, but I ain’t gonna add to the nightmares either.”

Raf twirled the cigarette around with his thumb, swinging his legs and letting them tap against the building, trying to calm his shaking nerves, taking a deep breath before he finally spoke.

“Nightmares, huh? Lemme tell you ‘bout a nightmare, ese. Two kids… boy an’ a girl, growin’ up in Mexico,” He started quietly, pronouncing the word ‘Mexico’ the way it was supposed to be spoken. “An’ these two kids… Well, their papà, he liked young boys. He would kidnap street kids from Ciudad Juarez, keep ‘em for a few weeks, ‘fore stranglin’ ‘em. Dumped their bodies out in the desert. An’ this pendejo… he’d make his kids help. When he didn’t have any luck on his ‘hunts’, he’d use his son until he could get a new kid.

“But… when the kids were nine, two gringos in a van stopped them on their way to school. The girl… She knew somethin’ was up, but her brother was stupid. They showed him a picture of a bike, an’ promised he could have it, ‘long with a great new life in America. So he got into the van, an’ ‘cause she was a good sister, the girl got in too.

“Oce they… once they had the kids in the van…” Raf had to stop, chewing on his bottom lip for a minute, closing his eyes, unable to stop the shudder that ran through him. “Well, they made sure both the boy an’ the girl were ‘broke in’ ‘fore they got them here. Then they sold both of ‘em to one a those underground groups who pass kids ‘round to special clients. The boy tried… he tried to protect his sister, but… He could only do so much, an’ they… they would torture him… whenever he tried. Whip him… Beat him… Tie him up for days, starve him… fuck him raw. He got sick… real sick. Infection, probably. But the girl… she never gave up. After two years, she managed to get her an’ her brother out.

“But they were jus’… two eleven-year ol’ illegals. Only English they knew was… was the shit they heard while _cabrons_ were fuckin’ ‘em, an’ the boy was still… he was so sick, they both thought he was gonna die. But he lived, an’… Well, the boy knew they needed money, an’ there was one thing he’d been good for his whole life. So he did what he knew.

 “You know what it’s like, Hood, waitin’ on a corner? Waitin’ for that car to pull up, or the stranger to walk over… Hopin’ he’s there for you, ‘cause then maybe you can eat, but _prayin_ ’ he ain’t there for you, ‘cause then you… It’s like sellin’ a piece a your soul, an' all you're gettin' in return is enough for a fuckin' crappy meal. If they don't jus' take what they want, an' leave you layin' in a pool of your own blood.”

The companionable silence from before was gone, replaced by a heavy, painful air that seemed to stretch on forever.

“But you do it anyways, so you can keep the younger kids from havin’ to do it. It don’t help much, but knowin’ that… that you’re at least keepin’ somebody else from droppin’ to their knees in some alley with a guy so fat, he ain’t even seen his dick in years.”

Raf looked up, shocked, as Hood spoke, his voice low, and a thousand miles away, before he looked over at Raf with a sad smile.

“Like you said, kid: I grew up ‘round here, an’ kids livin’ on the streets earn their livin’ dependin’ on how cute they were. An’ let’s jus’ say I was a cute kid.”


	12. I Feel Like A Monster

_Three Weeks Later_

Batman, Nightwing, and Robin watched from the roof above as GCPD tagged and bagged the bodies, the week-long rain having finally slowed to a drizzle, leaving a damp, cold feeling in the already cool April air.

Unlike a typical crime scene, the officers removing the carnage were strangely quiet; even the normal radio chatter was limited to a few instructions here and there, adding to the overall dismal feeling setting in all around them.

Nightwing shifted his shoulders around uncomfortably, staring at one of the bodies they officers hadn’t tagged yet, trying to keep his stomach.

“You _sure_ this is our guy?” He asked quietly, finally looking away as an officer began photographing the body pieces. “Not really his MO.”

“It’s him,” Batman said sternly. “He left an actual message this time. Jim removed it as soon as CSU got pictures; he didn't want anymore of a public spectacle than it already is. Oracle?”

“Patching it through now,” Came Oracle’s subdued voice.

In the left side of his vision, a large, high-def photograph appeared in his visor. Despite the horror of the message itself, the handwriting was beautiful, almost like calligraphy, elegant and graceful -an impressive feat seeing as how it appeared to have been written in spray paint.

“He changed victimology too,” Robin said, moving away from the edge of the roof. “There were at least four female victims down there. Gordon have ID’s yet?”

Batman nodded curtly. “It was relatively easy, given that he’d left the heads this time. The fact that there are females is only _one_ change in the victimology; all of these people were fairly high-risk victims; either well-known, or wealthy, with a few philanthropists thrown in. Oracle is compiling a full report on all of them, but I knew at least three of the people down there personally.”

Nightwing couldn’t help his raised eyebrows, whistling a bit as he followed Batman over to Robin, the three of them taking off into the night, back towards the Cave. “Like… ‘ _friendly_ ’ knowing? Or acquaintances?”

“Acquaintances; people I’ve met at galas, or through corporate work.”

They remained silent as they moved through the darkness of the city, Robin and Batman eventually heading towards the Car, while Nightwing went for his bike, meeting up again on the inlet to the Cave. He followed behind the car, carefully monitoring his speeds to avoid wiping out on the moist pavement, a near constant hazard due to the cool dampness of the Cave.

He slid off his bike, moving towards the table as Bruce and Tim got out of the car.

“Oracle, are those reports done yet?” Bruce said as the automatic doors of the Car swung down behind him.

“Done, and waiting on your tablets. Presentation’s ready to go when you are.”

The three men sat down at the table, and Dick didn’t miss the tightness in Bruce’s features as he grabbed the tablet.

“Go ahead, Oracle.”

“Alright, so if we’re going by the heads, we’ve got sixteen victims this time, and the on-site coroner thinks that matches up with the body parts recovered. As of right now, we’ve got five females, eleven males, between the ages of twenty-eight, and sixty-two. Unlike the previous victims, these victims are all upper-class, to elite-class. The lowest income vic made a hundred and fifty thousand annually, besides from the two non-profit organizers.”

“Any idea what connects them?” Tim asked, staring intently at his tablet. “There’s gotta be something; this guy didn’t just go from low-level thugs to corporate executives.”

“I’m still digging into their backgrounds, but it’s going to take a while to figure out what’s relevant and what isn’t. I’ve gotten through a few firewalls, but again: these people paid for their own security, and getting into their corporate accounts is going to be rough. What I can tell you though, is that there’s a lot of cross-over between the victims. Most of them ate at the same three restaurants, shopped in the same high-end boutiques, bought their cars from the same two dealers… Again, guys, most of these people are the upper-crust of Gotham, or at least well-known in those circles. From public records, I can tell you that most of these people donated big bucks, dumping money back into the city. Eight of them actually donated to a few Wayne charities.”

Dick chewed on his lip for a moment, leaning back in his chair as he put his feet up on the table -after a discreet look to make sure Alfred was still upstairs. “Could that be it? B profiled that this guy has a grudge against people who take advantage of homeless kids in the Bowery; maybe he’s angry that these folks didn’t help him?”

“Anything’s possible, I suppose, but that doesn’t really fit with the profile,” Tim said quietly. “Besides, Bruce Wayne is one of the most charitable donators in the city; if this guy was basing his targets off of who donates, he would’ve went after him. And based off of these numbers, while Oracle says they donated ‘big bucks’, it’s a comparative term; compared to what they made, none of these people donated more than a maximum of five percent of their income a year, and most of that, I guarantee, was written off in taxes. These are the sort of donations my folks used to make; enough that my mother got to go to the charity balls and galas, and she’d occasionally get an award, but not enough to actually harm their lifestyles in any way. Donations to either make themselves look good, or to get a big write-off on their taxes.”

Bruce finally stirred, looking up from the tablet. “Oracle, can you pull up our profile?” After a moment, it appeared on all of their screens, and he continued. “So what’s changed from this? He went from targeting criminals who preyed on children, and because of that, we figured that he was probably a street kid himself at some point. He’s leaving the bodies in places with their crimes literally hung around their necks. He wanted everyone to know exactly what these people had done, and why he killed them.”

“Yeah, but _now_ he took a shot from left field, and killed a bunch of respectable people, with a vague warning. He’s never made any attempt to hide, or be subtle about his victims up until now, so what’s changed?” Dick demanded, sliding the pages on his tablet, until the message appeared on his screen.

_The Hour Of Your Reckoning Is Upon You_

Littered with body parts in-between the foot-tall letters, the message was -as he’d noticed early -exceedingly well-written. As a matter of fact…

“I don’t know if it actually means anything, but did you guys notice that this message is grammatically correct? Like he used the proper ‘your’, proper punctuation, and spelling? And this writing is pristine; he even took the time to wrap the tails of the ‘Y’s around into the rest of the letters. Forget street-kids, how many people in general do you know who can do calligraphy like that? Tim, can you do that?”

Tim shrugged uncomfortably. “Give me enough time, and a few practice tries, and probably. I don’t know if I could do it with a can of spray-paint though.”

“Exactly. You went to the best schools in Gotham, and you couldn’t have written this message, this perfectly. And he had time constraints; there’s no way anybody saw him doing this, and didn’t say anything. We’re talking he had to have all of this set up in maybe half an hour, forty-five minutes at most. So we’re talking some serious talent; a well-practiced hand in a hurry, and this guy still managed to get it perfect. I think this guy, whoever he is, he had an education at some point. Maybe a private school, or a boarding school? Somewhere that could teach writing like that.”

“He could’ve learned it from a parent, or grandparent,” Bruce pointed out. “Like Tim, if I was given enough time, I could’ve written something like this; Alfred taught me when I was a boy writing thank you notes.”

Dick deflated instantly. “I hadn’t thought of that, I guess. But still, you have to admit, that’s not something your typical homeless kid on the street knows.”

“Maybe this message wasn’t intended for whoever got the first messages,” Tim said suddenly, looking up at both of them. “I mean, this is a completely different animal we’re dealing with. Maybe the other bodies were meant for one person, and this –“ he nodded down towards the tablet –“was intended for somebody else. I mean, you said it yourself, it was like this guy was working up to something right? He could’ve just been psyching himself up for his intended target, and now, this message here is meant for _that_ target. Whoever hurt him, whoever wronged him, this message is meant for them.”

“Then who the hell were the _original_ messages for? You’re trying to say he expects two different people to recognize his work, and know he’s talking to them?” Dick countered.

“Or…” Bruce cut in quietly, waiting a pregnant pause for both Dick and Tim to look at him. “Alfred said that if this man figured out that the recipients of the messages weren’t getting them… He’d up the ante. This could be that he’s learned whoever he’s been doing this for hasn’t been paying attention, so he went bigger this time; more high risk victims, no criminals, no reason… And there’s a rage here that wasn’t present in any of the first victims. Oracle, do we have a cause of death yet?”

“Coroner’s still working on the autopsies, probably won’t be finished for at least forty-eight hours. But according to the on-site…” Barbara paused for a second, before continuing, “Well, he said it looks like a lot of those limbs were removed ante-mortem, based off of blood loss, and lividity in the limbs and torsos.”

“Are you saying that he literally hacked these people to death?” Dick asked, unable to keep the horror from his voice. He’d seen a lot of shit in his day, shit that gave him nightmares still, but that… _Damn_.

“It’s speculation, but looking at these photos, I don’t see anything to disprove his hypothes -Hold on, guys, I’ve got something coming over the scanners.”

“Sir.” All eyes spun towards Alfred, who’d approached in that silent, ninja-esque way he had, holding out Batman’s work phone. “Commissioner Gordon is calling.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said tightly, before answering. “Yes, Commissioner, what can I do for you? Yes, we were there, we saw it. You… You what? Alright, we’re on our way. We’ll meet you on the roof in half an hour.” He hit the end call button, and turned towards the two younger men. “We’ve got to go.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Our guy just dropped off a package at the GCPD. Jim says he knows why these victims were chosen.”


	13. Your Body's A Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of updates, but I've been out of town on vacation. Maybe another week or so, then I should be home again.

Alfred waited until after the boys -despite his age, Master Bruce would always be a boy to him – had left for the police station, making his way back down into the depths of mansion. With Master Richard being home, and the new vigilante running rampant through Gotham, the Cave was almost always untidy, with coffee cups, pop cans, papers, and pieces of their uniforms strewn about the floor; while he understood the new vigilante was keeping them busy, and Master Richard had spent most of his life amongst the chaos that was life in a circus, but still: was it too much to ask them to simply throw their trash in the bins situated right next to their various desks?

He sighed as he picked up around the meeting table -the one that was only used when more than two of the Family was home -throwing Master Timothy’s pop cans into his trash, before setting the bag down, and collecting their tablets -which of course, in their rush, they’d all forgotten to shut off.

He picked up Master Richard’s tablet, and -while he usually didn’t snoop -something about it caught his eye, something he wasn’t even sure of as he glanced at the picture. While he was sure it said something about his life, that the blood and gore and body parts strewn about no longer evoked any real emotion, it took him a moment to realize what had actually stopped him in his tracks.

_That writing._

It could’ve been written by his own hand… a hand that had taught, or attempted to teach, each of the children he’d raised.

The only difference was that little flourish on the loops -a flourish that only one person he knew would take the time to beautify something that was already so stunning.

 

* * *

 

 

“Long time, no see, Commissioner,” Dick said, flashing the older man a grin.

But Gordon was apparently in full business mode, his face severe, and grim, as he set the laptop he was carrying down on the A/C vent. “Figured you guys would want to see this,” He said stonily, as he opened a file.

The room was dark, other than the lights from behind the camera, aimed at the woman tied hand and foot to a kitchen chair, her mouth gagged, eyes wide in terror. Dick distantly recognized her as someone he’d seen a few times at Bruce’s galas, a CFO of some company or another.

The guy in the red mask walked into view, and despite his casual movements, there was an obvious undertone of rage in his steps as he moved towards the woman.

“Ms. Grace Harrow,” The man said, placing a heavy inflection on the ‘ms,’, moving around behind her, and yanking her gag off.

“Please, please, whatever you want, I’ll give you money, jewelry, anything! Just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone, I swear! I swear!”

“Hmm… You know, that strikes me as kind of funny, Ms. Harrow. You begging and all. You know why I brought you here, Ms. Harrow?”

“No, I have no idea! I haven’t done anything!”

The man’s hand snapped out, backhanding the woman’s face so hard her head snapped back, and a stream of blood gushed from her nose.

“That’s a lie, Ms. Harrow. See, I tracked down a guy who told me all about you. You… you do remember Mr. Smit, right? Oh, there it is! There’s what I was looking for,” The man said, his voice sounding darkly pleased as Grace Harrow began to shake.

“Wait, wait, no, I… I can, I can, I can explain! I can explain!”

“Oh, really? That’s great, Ms. Harrow. See, I was _hoping_ for an explanation. I mean, clearly _you_ weren’t there for the obvious reasons.”

“No! No, no, I would… I would never do –“

“Would never what?!” All sense of calmness vanished, as the man swung around, leaning on the arms of the chair, getting in her face. “You’d never _fuck_ some poor kid?! You’d never torture them?! Tie them down, and _suffocate_ them?! No, you’d never do that would you?! Except I know you did! I know the kids you fuckin’ did it to!”

“Oh, God, no, no, no, please, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to, I… I…”

“You what?!”

“It’s not my fault! It’s not my fault, I swear, I swear, it’s not, I… I… I’m sick, I can’t control it, it’s not my fault!”

The man went stiff for a moment, before he knelt down, reaching up and patting Grace Harrow’s hand.

“Oh, I know. I know what it’s like to have those… those urges. They’re always there, just chillin’ in the back of your mind, waitin’ until the right trigger appears,” He said, his voice consoling, and a distinct trace of a Bowery accent seeping through his words. “And when it does… Well, you just can’t control it, can you, Grace?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s it, it’s just like that, you know what it’s like, it’s not my fault!”

“It’s okay, Grace… Because I’m going to help you with those urges. Because I get urges too, Grace. But my urges… they’re a little different. Ya see… My urges? While I might not be a sick fuck who hurts children, I will admit that I’m definitely a bad guy. Because my urges are to kill sick, evil little fuckers who hurt children. And I gotta tell ya, Grace… I’m feelin’ like my urges just hit the fuckin’ jackpot.”

Gordon swung the laptop closed, his face set in stone as he looked back up at them.

“I’m pretty sure you can guess what happens afterwards. There was a video for each person at the crime scene, and… I gotta tell you, when this gets out… This is going to cause a shitshow, gentlemen. Hell, one a those bodies was a state Representative.”

“And each one of them admitted, on tape, to…” Tim’s voice trailed off.

“To raping kids. Apparently, this Mr. Smit gave our friend in the red mask a list of names, and he grabbed everyone he could find... Then he cut ‘em up while they were still alive, and left us the pieces, along with a pretty message.”

“Do we know if this ‘Mr. Smit’ was one of the bodies?” Bruce asked, and both Tim and Dick’s heads spun around at the odd tone in his voice, but a stern look from their adopted father kept them from speaking, and Jim apparently didn’t notice any of it as he answered Bruce’s question.

“No; each person on the videos admitted to knowing ‘Mr. Smit’, and the guy in the red mask told each of them that he got their name from Mr. Smit.”

Bruce reached out, and shook Jim’s hand. “Alright. Thank you for this, Commissioner; we’ll let you know if we have anything.”

As soon as they’d left the rooftop, both boys rounded on Bruce, Dick folding his arms across his chest.

“What’s up, big guy? Don’t give us that look, you know something,” He said knowingly.

“I… Penny One contacted me. On my private line. He… He recognized the handwriting. From the message.”

“Wait, what? _He_ recognized the handwriting?” Tim demanded. “Penny One?”

“Yes. We… We should go back to the Cave.”

“What? No way! Whose handwriting is it?”

Bruce sighed, setting his jaw for a moment, before relenting.

“It… He said it was Jason’s.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things, my peeps. Firstly, I know this is a sort of... filler... chapter, and I do apologize, especially after y'all waited almost two weeks for an update. But I literally got home Sunday night, and I haven't had access to a computer other than my phone.
> 
> Secondly, this will be the last chapter for at least three weeks. I'm actually going to try and do the #BatFamChallenge2018. I've never done this sort of thing before -heck, I haven't even had prompts before -and I would like to give it a shot. So, until the end of BatFamWeek (August 4th), there will be no new chapters on this story. Again, I apologize, but I've always wanted to try one of these, and I've decided to suck up my insecurities and do it lol.

Talia was humming quietly to herself as she cleaned her hands, frowning as she scraped some blood out from underneath one of her nails, when _that_ phone rang. The phone that only one person in the world had.

“Beloved. I’m surprised,” She said, foregoing greetings. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Did you know?” Came the harsh reply from the other end.

“I know a good many things, Beloved. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that,” She said casually, peering under her nail, satisfied finally that she’d removed all traces of blood.

“Did you know about Jason?”

“Ah,” She said, sitting up, and growing serious as she sighed. “Tayiri has finally told you of his presence in Gotham, I imagine. Good. I was beginning to grow concerned.”

“ _Told_ me? No, Talia, he didn’t _tell_ me; I figured it out from handwriting samples. Samples I got at a _bloodbath_ of a crime scene, where he killed _sixteen_ people by cutting off their limbs! I _asked_ you, Talia! I _lowered_ myself to call in that favor, so you would help me find my son, and you told me you couldn’t find any trace of him! And you knew where he was, the _whole time_?!”

She’d heard her Beloved speak thousands of times; this was the first time she’d ever actually heard him yelling in anger. Oh, he’d seethed at her of course; given her the ‘grim lecture’ as Tayiri often called it. But this was something new.

“Beloved, I’m sorry for any distress I have caused you. Truly, I am. But when Tayiri came with me –“

“Came with you?! You mean he’s _been_ with you?”

“Yes. He left Gotham with me the night he disappeared, and trained as my apprentice. I promise you, as much as any of us can be safe, Tayiri was safe. He was under my protection,” She explained. “As my apprentice, few would outwardly harm him, other than other students. And he far surpassed any other student we had, so there was no true danger to him.”

“He’s slaughtering people, Talia!”

“Oh, please. You and I both know that those he’s killing deserve death; probably a worse death than he’s giving them, if we’re being perfectly honest with each other,” She said casually. “I understand you have your… moral quandaries… with killing, but all things considered, he’s doing rather well, I’d say.”

“All things… Talia… Tell me you didn’t.”

“Again, there are many things I’ve done, and –“

“Did you put _my son_ in the _Lazarus Pit_?!”

“I didn’t ‘put’ him anywhere, Beloved. He asked me about it, we discussed the possible side effects, and he decided to do it,” She said dismissively. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t discuss it as an option with him when you realized the extent of the damage he’d taken. He was barely functional when he arrived here, and despite his best efforts -which were impressive -there was simply no way he could’ve ever been even a quarter of what he once was. So we discussed it, him and I, and he decided the benefits outweighed the possible risks.”

“You… Talia, are you insane? _You’re_ the one who told me about the Pit Madness. _You’re_ the one who warned me of the dangers that came along with it. _You’re_ the one who talked me out of it when Bane broke my back!”

“Because it was a single break, Beloved. Far different than what Tayiri was suffering from. He could barely walk, or use his hands; for him, the rewards far outweighed the risks. Which, given his stubbornness, and refusal to let anything truly control him, were minimal to begin with. I monitored him closely; it’s been two years. For the most part, he’s able to channel the rage into productive outlets; I never would’ve let him return to Gotham if I thought he were a danger.”

She could almost feel him seething at her over the phone, and a small smile came to her face as she pictured his ‘brooding’ face, perpetual frown turned a bit deeper than usual, eyebrows pulled together, teeth gritted.

“Tell that to the now almost three dozen people he’s killed. Tell that to Robin, who he nearly _beat_ to death because he interrupted him during a murder.”

She leaned forward in the chair, all traces of her smile gone, an edge coming to her tone as she spoke. “You would call me, and complain that he’s killing rapists and murderers? While I sympathize with your feelings regarding the attack on your newest bird, I also find it a bit incongruous that you would complain of this to me.”

“So you let a killer loose in my city, and you think I’m over-reacting.”

“No, Bruce, I think you’re a fool,” She said sharply. “I think you put your vaunted principles ahead of your son’s well-being. I think you let the man who took him from you, who tortured him as a game, who did things even I would consider immoral, walk free. If Tayiri hadn’t wanted the one you call ‘Joker’ for himself, I would’ve hunted him down, and slaughtered him like the mad dog he is for what that man did to him.

“You, Bruce, dressed him up as a bright red target for anyone who had a vendetta against you. You took him in as nothing more than a replacement for your eldest, regardless of whether or not Tayiri was capable of such a feat. And when the arrow finally hit the target, you sat back and did nothing. For almost a year and a half, Tayiri was tortured, because of you, and now you dare to criticize how he’s rebuilt his life? You dare to criticize the fact that he’s making your city safer than you ever did?” She scoffed, loudly, a noise she didn’t often make. “I think you need to take a long look at where Tayiri is, and how far he’s come, and who is responsible for who he was, and who is now. Goodbye, Bruce.”

She hit the ‘End’ button, and set that phone down gently, before grabbing her desk phone, and dialing.

“Talia. This is a surprise,” Came Jason’s harsh voice in her ear. “And shitty timing.”

“Your father knows you’re in Gotham.”


	15. Courtesy Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and salutations, amigos! So, while writing for the BatFam challenge, I got incredibly frustrated more than once, and began working on this along side my three submissions. So I'm back early lol.

Jason frowned, even though no one would be able to see it under his new helmet he’d had made.

“Seriously?” He grunted a bit as he snapped the man’s neck. “How?”

“Handwriting, apparently. He’s none too pleased by the bodies you’re -is that screaming?”

“Might be,” He tried casually, pulling his pistol, and shooting the man screaming in agony on the floor. “Look, Talia, I’m a bit busy. This is gonna have to wait. I’m kinda in the middle of sending a message to a crime lord.”

“Ah. I won’t keep you then. At a later time, Tayiri. Be safe.”

“Uh huh.”

Jason glanced around at the bodies on the floor, rolling his neck from side to side until he heard a satisfying ‘pop’ as he moved towards the large, double oak doors.

He wasn’t surprised at the gun pointed at his head as he entered through the doors; sure, the guy was a crime lord, usually had others do his dirty work for him, but you didn’t climb up the food chain by being afraid to get your hands dirty.

That _face_ though…

“See, that explains a _lot_. Mommy probably didn’t kiss you enough as a child, huh? I don’t think I could kiss my kid if he looked like that.”

Black Mask snarled at him, never flinching, the gun never wavering from the center of his head. “The fuck do you want?”

“Who, me? Eh, usual stuff. By the way, that ain’t gonna do you much good. Bullet-proof,” Jason said, his tone apologetic as he tapped on the helmet. “Let’s talk, huh?”

“Talk? _Talk_?! You just came into _my_ house, killed _my_ men, and you wanna talk?!”

“Yeah. Why do you think I came into your house, and killed your men? It wasn’t to test my skills. Oh, you might wanna improve your security, by the way. It sort of… well… it blows.”

He grinned under the helmet as the guy gritted his teeth so hard, Jason could visibly see it. “I assume you’re the asshole that’s been dropping bodies all over my town.”

“No, I’m the guy who’s been murdering _scumbags_ in _my_ town. Key difference. But, the thing is, see, I’m sort of in the middle of somethin’ else, and your scumbags keep popping up everywhere. Makin’ my job… _complicated_. And I gotta tell you, Mr. Mask, I’m a pretty simple guy. I tend to… lose my temper… when things get complicated.”

“What?! I didn’t even know you existed until you started dropping bodies! We weren’t bothering you at all!”

“See, that’s not entirely true. You’re dealing to kids. Running kid hookers. Your scumbags are beatin’ the hell out of kids. Any of that tends to bother me, ‘cause, well, you know, I’ve got a half a conscience. I was hopin’ you’d get the message with that last one, but… Well, I suppose you can’t have such good looks, and the brains to go with it, huh? So, here’s the deal: I’m gonna give you one last chance. I don’t care what you do in the Bowery, as long as it doesn’t affect kids. You wanna deal to scumbags? By all means. You want to kill gang bangers? Go right ahead. But you leave the kids out of it. This is your one warning, bub. I suggest you take it. There’s always room for more on Sprang Bridge.”

Jason backed out of the room, keeping his guns trained on Black Mask, before kicking out a window in the waiting room, and grappling off into the night.

 

* * *

 

Dick had left the cave the moment Bruce had come back into the Cave, the look on his face all the confirmation he needed as he headed towards the Bowery on his motorcycle cat breakneck speeds, shutting off his comms and trackers as he weaved in and out of traffic, still dressed in his civvies.

If Jason was in the Bowery, there were a limited number of places he’d go; sure, Jason knew the whole area like the back of his hand, but he’d always been a creature of habit. The factory he’d lived in while homeless, two of the lofts he’d generously called safehouses, Dick’s apartment safehouse he’d stayed in after he was rescued from the Joker, the storage room above his favorite Mexican restaurant… Even as ran down the list, he took a left onto Levittson, planning on hooking over to Matherson from there, when he hit the brakes, ignoring the honking horns behind him as he pulled over in front of Fitz’ Fresh Foods.

The place had taken more than a few hits since he’d moved Pat and Katie to Blüdhaven; most of the front half had collapsed in on itself, but that would only improve on its worth as a hideout.

He shut the bike off, and hung his helmet from the handlebars before crossing the street, keeping an eye on the shadows surrounding the area for danger.

But the fact that he seemed to be alone told him his hunch was spot-on; the typical bums and junkies were giving the place a wide berth, and no one was within at least fifty feet of the building in any direction.

It took him about fifteen minutes to find the entrance way; it’d been cleverly hidden beneath debris, and -for the most part -any footprints had been wiped away, but he caught half of a small sneaker print just to the left of where he found the entrance.

He moved in carefully, well aware of Jason’s propensity for flashbang-booby traps, having to bend almost in half as he shuffled through the maze-like walkway, but there seemed to be nothing other than a few strings of cans that he imagined were used as a crude, but effective, alarm system.

More and more, he was starting to doubt that this was the right spot, and finally getting into the building didn’t help; there were ten sleeping bags set up around the area, along with a few small backpacks -much too small for an adult. As he moved further in, he began to feel a bit of guilt; this was clearly the ‘home’ of a group of kids, complete with a few board games and fast food wrappers, and he was an invader in their little sanctuary.

He turned to leave when something caught his eye off to the corner -a flash of red underneath what looked like a dark jacket.

Moving slowly, he silently made his way to the corner.

It was a scuffed, brown leather jacket.

Covering a red helmet.

* * *

 

 

Despite his piss-poor mood, Jason couldn’t help but grin as the kids darted through the suite, whooping and giggling with delight as they ripped through the room like a hurricane, checking out every nook and cranny of the almost two thousand square foot hotel suite, complete with 76” television in the living room and both bedrooms, fully stocked kitchen, jacuzzi in the bathroom, two bedrooms (one king size bed, and two sets of bunkbeds), and balcony with a small pool.

Only Raf stayed by his side, after giving the kids a warning not to rough house by the balcony, a pensive, brooding look on his face.

“What’s up?” Jason finally asked, sliding onto a bar stool. “I know some of you will have to share the king, but I figured we could let Tony and the girls have that, the boys can have the bunkbeds, you can take the couch, and I’ll take the chair.”

“How’re you payin’ for this, ese? This shit… This ain’t cheap,” Raf said finally, gesturing around the room as he sat down.

“Damn straight it’s not; seventeen hundred bucks,” Jason said with a laugh. “Relax man, it ain’t your money.”

“And it ain’t _yours_ either,” the younger boy said firmly. “I heard ‘bout what happened. Some of the hookers were talkin’ ‘bout it. How some freak in a red helmet busted into the Black Mask’s headquarters and killed at least twenty people. Rumor has it he even shot the big guy a few times to prove his point.”

Jason leaned back languidly, folding his arms across his stomach as he gave Raf a smirk. “I don’t shoot to prove a point; if I’m shooting, your _body_ is gonna be my point.”

“Don’t play games, ese; you know what I mean.”

“Raf… Anybody ever tell you that you worry too damn much?”

“No. Because anybody who thinks that is already dead,” The boy answered bluntly. “Jason… People are startin’ to realize that you’ve been seen hangin’ with a bunch of street kids. How long you think it’s gonna take ‘fore someone puts it together, huh? ‘Fore your beef with the Black Mask blows back on us?”

“That ain’t gonna happen, kid. I won’t let it. I’ll keep you guys safe.”

“Really? An’ how you think you’re gonna do that, huh? Hide us out up here? Even you can’t afford two k a night, Jason. Not to mention whatever security deposit you’re gonna have to pay when the kids wreck the place. And that they’re gonna get real bored, real quick. ‘New and shiny’ factor might keep ‘em goin’ a few days, but after that, they gonna be itchin’ to get back out there.”

Sitting up, Jason glared at him. “We already had this conversation once, kid. Either you take what you can while you can, and trust me to keep you outta the crosshairs, or I walk out that door right now, and y’all are on your own. But I ain’t gonna sit here and argue about it. Not now. Christ, act like a fuckin’ kid for a change, and go have some fun. Let the grown-up worry for a bit.”

Raf scoffed at him as he stood. “Grown-up? Who you think you’re foolin’, ese? I doubt you can even legally dri -Jason? What’s wrong?”

Jason was staring down at his phone, unable to keep the angry look off his face as it beeped at him, flashing red.

“Somebody’s in Fitz’s. Can you keep the kids under control while I check it out?”

“Oh, you want me to be a grown-up again?”

“I’m serious, Raf. I got an idea who’s there. An’ if I’m right… Well, let’s just say I might be a while.”

“Black Mask?”

“Worse. My fuckin’ family.”


	16. When We Get Started, We Ain't Gonna Stop

Dick had hesitated for a few minutes, a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, before he’d opened the backpack laying by the jacket and the helmet.

But there really wasn’t anything inside; a few changes of clothes, a few hundred dollars in wadded up bills, a bottle of antibiotics and ibuprofen, and two well-worn books, The Tales Of Robinson Crusoe and 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea.

If he’d had any doubts that this was, in fact, Jason, those doubts vanished with the books. He recognized both of them, Robinson Crusoe that Alfred had given him for his first Christmas at the Manor, and 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea had come from his own bookshelf in the apartment Jason had stayed at; the pages were still dog-eared at his favorite parts, such as the underwater pearl divers.

He thumbed through both books, not entirely sure why. The proof that his brother was still alive, maybe? Reminiscing about better times?

“Thought you were real big on personal space.”

Dick was on his feet in an instant, spinning towards what had been the kitchen area, mentally cursing himself for assuming there was only one entrance.

“Jay?”

“Brilliant detective work. What’re you doin’ here, Dick?”

His throat was dry, he realized, licking his lips as he struggled for words, feeling like the ant under the microscope. Despite his casual pose -arms folded across his chest, leaning against a wall – Dick could see the undercurrent of anger thrumming through his body, as he watched Dick through narrowed eyes, head tilted slightly to the left, like he wasn’t sure if he was going to kill him, or just beat the hell out of him.

And it suddenly occurred to him… The tall, well-muscled man who’d beat the piss out of Tim with hardly any effort was the man standing in front of him.

The man who’d brutally murdered thirty-eight people in a month and a half.

The man who’d dismembered some of his victims alive.

“Ah, _there_ it is,” Jason said, a devilish smirk on his face. “I can see the wheels, just a-spinnin’ in there.” He circled one finger around the side of his head. “Tell me… _Dick_. You didn’t just… shut off all your trackers and comms before you invaded my space, did you? Oh, oh, oh… You _did_. The _Golden Boy_ went off on his own, without the Big Bad Bat to back him up. S’not good, Dickie. Remember what happened _last_ _time_ somebody took off without comms to see a long-lost relative? ‘Cause _I_ do.”

Dick could feel the chill setting in the air at Jason’s suddenly vicious tone, as he stepped further into the room.

“See, this is good, though. Gonna answer a question I’ve been askin’ myself for almost five years now. ‘Cause I gotta tell you… I always wondered… Sittin’ in that cell at Arkham… Drugged, starvin’, sittin’ in my own piss, shit, blood, an’ puke… What would Bruce have done… if it’d been _you_?”

There was no way to get out of the room without giving Jason his hunched over back as a target -and it didn’t take a genius to know how that would turn out. Maybe he could slip around him, go out however Jason had come in… Unless that was designed the same way as the front.

“What if the Joker had killed _you_ , instead of _me_? Would he have just went about his life like normal? Would he have just… replaced you? If he’d found out you were still alive, and the Joker started goin’ after people you cared about? Would he have just… locked him up in Arkham again?”

Giving up on escaping, Dick gave Jason a pleading look, holding his hands out in front of him. “Jason… You don’t have to do this, okay? Talia told Bruce about the Pit; you’re stronger than this, Little Wing, you can fight this, alright? We don’t have to fight. I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy; I made a mistake. But it doesn’t have to go down like this, Jay.”

Jason laughed. “That was… that was a good try, Dick. But uh… Well, not good enough. He always said I wasn’t as good as you. Let’s see if he was right.”

 

* * *

 

It’d taken Oracle almost forty minutes to find Nightwing’s motorcycle on the few operational CCTV cameras in the Bowery, and another five for Batman to get there. Robin -who’d started on the north end – reported that it’d take him at least ten.

When Batman landed on the roof of the dilapidated building, he could hear the fighting inside; realized that he didn’t have time to wait for Robin.

“Robin, Nightwing’s engaged the target. Fitz’s Fresh Food. Set up a perimeter in case he tries to run.”

He ignored Robin’s affirmative as he pulled out his hand-held cutting torch, entering into -if he remembered correctly -would be the small storage space above the dining area, and then into the dining area itself.

“Jason, stop!”

Jason - _it was actually Jason, what Jason should’ve looked like if he hadn’t been malnourished and underfed his entire life, if he hadn’t been tortured_ -stopped mid-punch, one hand still holding onto Nightwing’s collar.

He ignored how still Nightwing was, the blood pouring from his face, as he focused his full attention on Jason, who chuckled as he dropped Nightwing to the ground, stepping over him like he was nothing.

_Talia, what the hell did you do to my son?_

“Bruce! Thanks for proving a sore point for me. You _did_ come to save the Golden Boy after all. You know… After all the shit you gave me, ‘bout how _Dick_ here was the better fighter, the better tactician, the better at fucking everything… I thought he’d be more of a challenge. Gotta say, outta all the black-haired, blue-eyed orphans you brought home, it’s startin' to look like I was best.”

“Jason… Jay… Stop. This ends here, you understand? No more. No more _bodies_ , no more _messages_ , no more attacking your brothers –“

“They’re _not_ my brothers!” Jason cut him off sharply. “They’re not my _fuckin_ ’ brothers, and as you reminded me when I was fourteen, you’re not my fuckin’ _father_. I’m the ‘ _mistake_ ’, the regret! I was _never_ a part of your fuckin’ family, and you made that _perfectly_ fuckin’ clear when you let the Joker walk for what he did to me! And guess what, Bruce, that means you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t fuckin’ _do_!”

“Jason, that’s not true, and you _know_  that,” Batman said softly, taking a step forward. “You’re my _son_. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you, Jay, I really am. You’ll never know how sorry. But when you disappeared three years ago, I _never_ stopped searching for you. I scoured the country, trying to find you, or trying to find your body. Do you know how many _morgues_ I visited, how many _bodies_ of young boys I saw? Because you’re _right_ , I made a mistake when I thought the Joker killed you, and I wasn’t going to do that again.

“I _understand_ you’re angry, Jason. I understand that this isn’t all just about the Pit, or about the Joker. I didn’t _save_ you. I failed you, _twice_. But that’s on _me_ , and I’ll have to live with that. Nightwing and Robin… they have _nothing_ to do with this, and you know _that_ , Jason.”

“ _Wrong_! They have everything to fuckin’ do with this, Bruce! Tim fuckin’ Drake, the replacement, the guy who took my fuckin’ spot, like I was fucking nothing! The guy who marched into your lives, and made you forget that I’d ever even fuckin’ existed! And Dick Grayson, the _Golden Child_ , the _perfect_ Robin, who could do no fuckin’ wrong -even _after_ he told you to go fuck yourself, and _left_ you! And I swear to fuckin’ Christ, Bruce, if you don’t drop that fuckin’ batarang, I will _shoot_ your Golden Boy right between the fuckin’ eyes!”

Instantly, Batman brought his hands out in front of him, more than a bit surprised by the small pistol Jason pulled, and pointed at Nightwing in the matter of a breath.

“Jason… You’re in control here, alright?” He said softly, keeping his movements deliberate. “You just need to calm down.”

“Bruce, I swear to God, if you don’t shut up, you’re not gonna like what happens.”

_"Batman, I’m on top of the building; I’ve got visual on you. Do I engage?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwuahaha, cliffhanger again!


	17. We Can't Die Because We're Young

Tim was not in a huge hurry to tangle with Jason again, a fact his still-healing ribs definitely agreed with, the bandages wrapped tight around his chest seeming to throb in memory of the beat-down he’d gotten.

Particularly with a _Jason-at-the-height-of-Pit-Madness_ -something that, if Dick had actually stuck around for, he would’ve known to avoid.

And definitely not Pit-Madness-Jason who currently had what looked like heavily modified M1911 pistols, one aimed at Dick, one aimed at Bruce.

But conversely, he wasn’t really seeing a lot of other options; as he silently moved around, trying to find a good angle, he could see the rage in his predecessor building the more Bruce spoke, and he knew there wasn’t exactly a ‘good’ way out of this situation; that between Dick, and Bruce had worked him up enough that there was no stepping back now, that Jason had dived head-first off the edge of his temper, enflamed by the Lazarus Pit. Walking out without further confrontation wasn’t going to happen.

Taking a deep breath as he finally found the perfect spot, he closed his eyes for only a moment, praying that this would work, before dropping down…

Right onto Jason’s back.

His ribs screamed in protest, and he had the idle thought that he’d probably rebroken at least one, possible two, of them, as Jason howled, whether in anger or pain, Tim couldn’t tell, and didn’t have time to care about. But at least Bruce had the presence of mind to jump into the fray, lashing out with a solid front kick that sent one of Jason’s pistols flying off into the darkness, while Tim struggled desperately to keep his grip on his other hand; given that he’d already faced off against Jason once, and lost - _badly_ -he felt no shame over monkey gripping the previous Robin’s arm with both arms, shoving his legs across Jason’s chest, in an attempt to keep him pinned.

An attempt that was failing miserably; while he was keeping control of the arm, Jason rolled, shoving Tim’s legs against his own chest, bringing one leg around to knee Tim in the shoulder repeatedly, apparently not caring about Bruce’s muscled attempts to pull Jason off of him, Bruce’s gloved hands digging into Jason’s leg.

“Hey! Get off him!”

Tim was shocked, enough to weaken his grasp on Jason’s arm, when he seen a small teenage boy spider-jump onto Bruce’s back, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s neck in a untrained-attempt for a chokehold.

 

* * *

 

Almost like a splash of cold water waking someone from a deep sleep, Raf’s voice yanked Jason out of his blinding rage; combined with the Replacement’s surprise - _the little twerp loosened his grip_ -Jason was able to yank his arm free as he rolled towards Bruce, kneeing the man in the face before pulling himself out from the fray. Rolling to his feet behind Bruce, he grabbed at Raf, yanking him off of Bruce’s back.

Years of instinct, learned on the streets, made it easier; Raf knew enough to loosen his grip, and took his feet, scrambling out the entrance in front of Jason, who paused only long enough to grab his leather jacket before darting after him.

“Up! Go up!” Jason hissed, not giving him time to respond before grabbing at his foot, and shoving him up towards the fire escape. Jason didn’t waste his time with the ladder, pulling himself up on the pipe next to it. He cleared the roof a few seconds ahead of Raf, who he yanked up the last few feet.

“C’mon; we gotta keep goin’,” He muttered, pleased when Raf just nodded, not even out of breath, following him to the edge of the roof. “Think you can make that jump?”

“That one? Yeah. After that, I ain’t sure.”

“One problem at a time. Me first, you next. I’ll catch you. No worries,” He said, forcing a smirk before he jumped. To his surprise, Raf landed next to him almost at the same moment, giving him a smirk of his own.

“I ain’t helpless, ese. But we ain’t goin’ high; we gotta go back down.”

“What? Why?!” Jason demanded, trying to keep his voice low, knowing that Bruce and Tim weren’t far behind, following Raf as the kid dropped down the fire escape, sliding down the edges of the ladder, and dropping the six foot to the bottom, coming up in a roll, and taking to his feet again as they took off at a jog down the alley. He wasn’t about to leave the kid alone, so he had no choice but to follow him.

“You Bats, man. Ain’t none a you comfortable with your feet on the ground, yeah? Where you think _they’re_ gonna go, huh? ‘Specially seein’ as how they ain’t welcome here, an’ they’ll get the shit kicked outta ‘em if anybody spots ‘em.” He shot Jason a slide glance, before rolling his eyes, hooking a left back onto Matherson. “Wish you weren’t so fuckin’ tall, ese; ain’t like we can hide you in a crowd, yeah.”

“Shut up, _pendejo_ ; like there’s a ton of stocky Mexican boys runnin’ ‘round the Bowery,” Jason scoffed, although part of him agreed, and for the first time, he found himself missing his small, scrawny stature – that he couldn’t blend in and just be another face in the crowd, or get into the small places where adults couldn’t follow.

“More of me than there are six foot plus, well-muscled, well- _fed_ guys with a white streak smack dab in the center of their forehead. C’mon,” He muttered, ducking inside a blasted out hole in the wall of the shoe factory. “Don’t hit your head,” He added, with another smirk.

“Ha ha; what are we doin’, Raf? This ain’t runnin’,” Jason pointed out, wrinkling his nose at the drug addicts lounging around the place.

“We can’t run; every moron out here knows you can’t outrun Batman. So we don’t try. Sit down. Flop against the wall like you’re outta your mind on smack.”

Jason obeyed, quickly adopting the half-dead slouch he’d seen so often in his youth; matter of fact, glancing around, he was pretty sure he’d seen people slouched against this particular wall when he’d squatted in the building during his winters on the streets. Raf wasted no time in ripping a ratty, mold-smelling blanket off an addict laying close, and draping it over Jason, strategically covering enough of his body to hide his identifying features -such as his face -and disguising his height, before darting over to a little cubby built by ruined crates and pallets, and burying himself underneath the pile.

They waited for almost twenty minutes, and it took every ounce of street-smarts Jason had to remain still, to keep his one visible eye half-open, half-closed, to not look around when he heard boots moving past him; not Bruce, because Bruce would’ve ripped the blankets off every person in the building if he thought Jason was actually hiding there. But Tim, cautiously picking his way through, probably sniffing his nose at the smells and dankness that Jason had gotten used to over the years.

He had to resist the urge to scoff, imagining the Replacement’s face as he took in the _very_ _best_ the Bowery had to offer.

Given where Raf had hid, Jason knew he had a better viewpoint than Jason did, waiting for the younger boy to give him the go-ahead that it was safe to come out.


	18. Never Ending Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of updates, but honestly, I think I sort of burned myself out on this story; not saying that like I'm stopping writing, but that I just needed a break for a bit to get my head in the game, and get enthused about it.

“I’m fine, Bruce!”

“You’re not fine, Dick! Sit down!”

“The hell I will! Jason’s out there right now, alone, after you and Tim beat the _shit_ outta him!”

“That’s not what happened, and you know it!”

“Actually, Bruce, he might not… he got his ass kicked, and was unconscious, remember?”

Alfred set the tea tray down sharply, getting the attention of the three boys - _men, not boys, none of them were boys any longer_. Masters Richard and Bruce were standing toe-to-toe, while Master Timothy lounged in a chair at the conference table. But all three turned towards him at the intrusive noise, and he cleared his throat before speaking.

“Master Richard, you’re not going anywhere until after I look you over.” He turned his stern gaze to Master Timothy, who was chuckling. “And I don’t think I have to tell you how foolish it was to aggravate your ribs with your acrobatics, Master Timothy. All in all, I must say this was a rather disappointing night for me as a guardian; all three of you acted rather foolishly. I trust, Master Timothy, you can find your way to your room? Where you’ll be resting for a minimum of three days?”

Timothy gaped at him for a moment, mouth hanging open like a fish, before he scowled. “I’m a married man, Alfred; my wife expects me home.”

“Ah, on that note… I would advise you face _my_ patient and pleasant demeanor rather than Miss Gordon-Drake’s wrath at this moment. I informed her of your escapades, and I can assure you, her anger is quite impressive.”

Tim glared for a moment, before trudging over towards the lift, grabbing his bag off the table, and Alfred turned back towards Master Richard, who was smirking.

“And _you_. To the medical facility. Let’s see what damage your foolish endeavors did,” He said sharply, shooing him towards the medical bay, and pointing him to the examination table as he pulled on a set of gloves. Master Bruce retreated to the other side of the Cave, immersing himself on the computer.

Thirty minutes, twenty-three stitches, four plasters, and two Ace bandages later, Alfred pulled the gloves off, sighing as he threw them into the garbage.

“Well, other than bruised ribs, general cuts and abrasions, along with a nasty concussion, I believe you’ll live, Master Richard.”

“Hmm? Yeah, sure, thanks, Alfred.”

Alfred began neatening up the room, putting unneeded medical supplies back where they belonged, and setting aside the needles for sterilization. “Is there something on your mind, Master Richard?”

“Yeah, I… I dunno, Alfred, it was… Like, it was definitely Jason, but… It was so… so _weird_ , you know? He was taller than I am, and he had to weigh at least two ten, two twenty. It was almost as if it was Jason, but not Jason. Or not Jason, but still Jason, maybe.”

“If I understood Master Bruce correctly, that is one of the more… _pleasant_ … side effects of the Lazarus Pit: it returns the body to peak physicality. In essence, it erased the years of mistreatment, and neglect Master Jason suffered in his youth. While his new appearance might be a shock to us, this is, in effect, what he was always _supposed_ to be; what he would’ve been if he’d lived a normal, healthy lifestyle.”

Master Richard chewed on his lip for a moment, before looking over at him seriously. “He killed thirty-six people, Alfred. Thirty-six that we _know_ about. He… he cut them up while they were still _alive_. How… What the hell am I supposed to _do_? I thought I could… Maybe I could talk to him, and that… That he’d tell me it was a mistake, and we’d just… That he’d just come _home_ , you know? But staring in his eyes… I _knew_. I could just tell: he did it, and he doesn’t even feel guilty about it. How am I supposed to… What am I supposed to do here, Alfred?”

Alfred stopped, turning around, and looking the young man right in the eye. “I’m afraid that I can’t tell you that, Master Richard. That’s a question only you can answer.” He held up one finger to forestall Master Richard’s protest. “But I will offer you some things to consider while you come up with your answer.

“Firstly, you must remember that, no matter what he has done, Master Jason is _family_ ; he’s your brother, and Master Bruce’s son, and -for all intents and purposes -my grandson. Do you remember what Master Bruce told Jason the first time you visited at the mansion, after he’d first come to live with us?”

Master Richard nodded slowly. “Yeah, he was… he was angry because I assumed he couldn’t read, and he took a swing at me; Bruce told him that we can get pissed at family, but that doesn’t change that they’re our family. The only ones we can truly count on through thick or thin. That no matter how we felt about each other, I’d come to help him if he needed it.”

Alfred nodded. “Exactly, Master Richard. And can you think of a time when Master Jason has ever needed more help?”

“But he doesn’t _want_ my help! I tried!”

“No, you did not. You _invaded_ his private sanctuary, _pawed_ through his belongings, and _assumed_ that you could simply say magic words, and everything would return to whence it was nearly a decade ago.”

“What was I _supposed_ to say?! He killed almost forty people, Alfred!”

“Yes, I believe everyone in the family is quite clear on that particular issue. But that brings me to my next point, Master Richard. Namely… While I disagree with your brother’s methodology, there are a few things that must be considered when viewing his actions. Do you remember what Master Bruce has taught all of you about viewing a crime scene?”

“Yeah, that nothing happens in a void; there’s always a motive, and there’s always reason. We have to step outside of ourselves, and try to view a scene from the perpetrator’s point of view... I mean, I get that he’s killing people who probably deserve it, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s _killing_ them. Hell, he’s _butchering_ them.”

“Put that aside for a moment, and try to put yourself in Master Jason’s shoes. You know where he came from; the life he lived before he joined us here. When he could trust no one; when everyone he met either ignored him in a best case, or abused him in the worst. These people that he’s targeting are -to him -the same people who so cruelly mistreated him as a child. Then, on top of that, we must consider the effects of his time as the Joker’s prisoner, and what that did to his already fragile mind. The fact that -no matter what we believed to be true -we weren’t there to rescue him until the damage had already broken his mind.

“This was his state of mind when Talia al’Ghul sunk her claws into him. A mother figure, who would teach him, who could fix his physical issues, who has no morals to speak of; a woman who kills as easily as you or I breathe; a woman who has done so for at least the past three decades. And for three years, in this fragile state of mind, she could convince him of the righteousness of what he’s doing now, with no one to remind him of who he truly is.”

Master Richard was silent for a few minutes, before nodding. “Alright. Alright, I uh… I should probably go make sure Tim is actually resting or something.”

“Indeed, I would appreciate that. I’ll finish up here, and start an early dinner for us. I imagine tomorrow will be a very long day.”

* * *

 

“Hey, Raf?”

Raf didn’t look up, still trying to gather up the kids’ belongings from where they’d been scattered around the room during the fight. “Hmm?”

“I’d uh… appreciate it if you didn’t tell the rest of ‘em about this.”

“Lips are sealed, ese. But I got a bigger problem right now.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve gotta find some place new to put you all up. Somewhere off the grid. Some place Batman or Black Mask can’t find you,” Jason said darkly, and Raf turned his head enough to see the older boy clenching his fists together tightly, eyes closed as he took a few deep breaths. “I was thinking about checking some houses out, see if maybe I could rent one or somethin’. Place with a yard for the boys or somethin’.”

“You got money for that?” Raf asked curiously.

Jason shrugged. “Not forever, but a few months at least. After that…”

“ ‘After that’ what, Hood? You know, I ain’t pushed the issue, ‘cause I get you ain’t thinkin’ that far ahead, but what’s your end game? Not with the Mask, but with us? This grudge of yours… you kill him, then what? You disappear, an’ we never see you again? You throw us in an orphanage somewhere to make yourself feel better? Kill Robin, an’ Nightwing, and the Bat, an’ turn all of us into Robins to your Bat?”

“What?! Of course not!” Jason snorted indignantly. “I wouldn’t do that to a kid.”

“So what, then? What are we doin’ here, Jason?  What’re you doin’ here? An’ don’t give me some shit ‘bout ‘cleanin’ up the Bowery’; we both know this shithole ain’t never gonna change; you kill the Mask, somebody else gonna step in an’ fill the void.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, okay?! Fuck, I’m flyin’ by my ass here, Raf, an’ I’m tryin’ the best I can, alright? But it ain’t like I can just adopt all nine of you, an’ live happily ever after in the ‘burbs somewhere!”

“Then what the hell are we doin’?! Keepin’ you company ‘til you disappear? Vete la mierda, cabron, no puedes dejarnos! What ‘bout the others, huh? The fuck am I supposed to tell them? What am I supposed to tell Tony, huh? C’mon, asshole, tell me!”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, alright! Fuck!”

Raf stilled, ready to run as he saw Jason’s normally blue eyes flash a poisonous green color for a moment. But the older boy closed his eyes again, as Raf counted almost a full minute, before he opened them again.

“Here,” He said sharply, throwing a wad of bills and a credit card at him. “Use the card to pay for the hotel room to the end of the week; money’ll get you food. I’ll figure somethin’ out, an’ come back when I do.”

“Hey! Hey, don’t you jus’… Dammit!” Raf cursed, kicking at a piece of debris as Jason disappeared into the back, and presumably into the night.


	19. Curtain's Call

_ One Week Later _

Shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, Dick made his way towards the ‘family room’ (the small living room to the side of the house), and trying to keep one eye open for Alfred, who’d be less than pleased if he saw Dick taking food to the living room.

Shuffling along in his bare feet, still struggling to wake up after a long morning spent researching, he was surprised when he heard a soft knock on the front door, barely audible where he was moving from the foyer to the hallway.

He frowned as he swallowed his food; nobody had paged the gate, or keyed in their code, which meant -in theory -nobody should’ve been on the grounds. So he set his breakfast down on an end table, and moved towards the door cautiously, face furrowing in confusion as he activated the security camera pad next to the door, and spotted the teenage girl standing at the door.

He opened it slowly, and glanced around, ensuring the rest of the porch was empty, before he turned his attention to the girl.

“Uh… Can I help you?”

 “My name is Gabi. I’m Jason’s friend,” She blurted out, darting around him, and into the house. “Have you seen him?”

He felt his heart skip a beat, realizing that his mouth was still hanging open. With a start, he quickly snapped it shut, closing the door as he turned towards her.

“I uh… I think you have the wrong house. How did you get in here, anyways?”

“Jumped the fence; you gotta dead spot ‘bout thirty feet from your gate.”

“Well, again, I think –“

“Don’t play me, ese; I know who you are; I know what Bruce Wayne an’ his kids get up to at night. I know Jason used to be Robin, like you. Wasn’t that hard to put together. _Have you seen him_?”

Dick stared at her closely, taking in her tanned skin, dark hair, and large almond eyes. “Think I met your brother last week,” He finally said casually.

“You did. After him and Jason ditched you guys, he took off, and we haven’t seen him since. The first two days, there was a lot of bodies droppin’, an’ then… nothin’ for five days now. He said he’d come back in a few days, an’ tell us… well, he never came back, yeah? An’ there ain’t been no more bodies or nothin’. I thought maybe the Bat…” Her voice trailed off, as if realizing what she was implying might piss Dick off.

“What, caught him? No. We’ve been looking for him too. Like you said, he’s my brother. So you haven’t seen him since…” He hesitated a moment, trying to place the dates in his head. “Since Wednesday?”

She shook her head, shoving her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket. “No, we haven’t seen him since Monday; Wednesday night was the last time he… You know.”

Dick hesitated for a moment, before speaking. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… maybe he left? We haven’t seen him, maybe he left Gotham. Wouldn’t be the first time he ran away.”

“What?! No way, ese; no matter how mad he was, he would’ve come back to say goodbye to us. An’ he wouldn’t a jus’ left us high an’ dry, ya know? No way. Somethin’ ain’t right; if he _could’ve_ come back, he would’ve. An’ he ain’t jus’ hidin’ either; Raf said not to, but the younger ones have been watchin’ for him, an’ me an’ Adam have been lookin’ for him.”

Dick took a deep breath, thoughts racing for a minute, before he grabbed his shoes from the coat closet. Throwing it on, he reached back inside the closet for an extra helmet, and handed it to the girl.

“Can you ride?”

“What, like a motorcycle?”

“It isn’t hard; c’mon, we gotta find a place to talk,” He said, grabbing her arm, and leading her out the door, and towards his civilian bike.

“What? Where the hell we goin’?” She demanded, digging her heels in, and yanking her arm back.

“Somewhere the ‘Bat’ can’t overhear,” He said sharply, glancing pointedly back at the house. To her credit, the girl just nodded, slinging the helmet on, and following him to his bike. After Dick got on, he showed her where to put her feet, and she climbed up behind him, leaning against his back, wrapping her hands around his waist loosely. With an eyeroll, he reached down, and tightened her grip. “Just hold on tight, and lean with me, okay? No worries.”

“I seen Nightwing drive this thing before, ese; think I got plenty to worry about!” The last word came out in a high-pitched yelp as he revved the engine, and took off down the drive.

After about half an hour, he pulled the bike up in front of his old safehouse, shutting the engine off, and gently loosening the girl’s grip, chuckling to himself as he got off, and then helped her off, holding her steady for a second as her legs seemed to give out.

“Sorry. Hope that wasn’t your first time riding,” He said apologetically as she shook him off. “You alright?”

“M’fine. Where are we?”

“This used to be my apartment. C’mon,” He motioned her to follow as he headed inside the building, jogging up the stairs lightly, the girl keeping an easy pace behind him as they went up three flights.

When they entered the apartment, Dick did a quick run-through, making sure it was clear, with no signs of Jason, before he down on the couch, motioning for her to sit in the chair.

“Alright, so what happened? We know he killed six more people Tuesday, and nine on Wednesday; you’re saying you didn’t know any of that?”

She shook her head, pulling her knees up to her chest. “We knew that; me, Raf, an’ Adam kept track of him as much as we could, but after Wednesday… Nothin’. He told Raf on Monday that he was gonna try an’ figure out somethin’ more permanent for us. Left us two grand, and disappeared; said he’d come back when he had some place for us to go. Him an’ Raf argued about it, an’ the Black Mask, an’ how Raf didn’t want us in the middle of a war between the Mask an’ the Hood, ya know? An’ ‘fore you ask, that ain’t why he disappeared; Raf was jus’ worried, an’ Jason knew that. He wouldn’t jus’ leave us ‘cause a that. An’ since he disappeared… Streets are startin’ to get bad again, yeah? Like… Like somebody knows they ain’t gotta worry ‘bout him no more,” She finished quietly.

Dick leaned back in the chair. “When… When did he come back? How long have you been with him?”

“Uh… I don’t… I don’t know, at least… maybe a month, month and a half? We don’t really keep track of the days. Jus’ try to make it from one to the next, you know? An’ since Jason showed up, we ain’t had to worry ‘bout too much. He been takin’ care of us, makin’ sure we had food an’ a place to stay, you know?” She said quietly. “I know the Bat ain’t a fan a what he’s doin’, but… Jason’s like a hero to the younger kids. An’ he takes care of us; he hunted down the people who… who hurt me an’ Raf when we were kids, the guy who kidnapped Kylie… He’s a good guy, ese; he gets… he gets angry, sometimes, but never at us. He does what he does to take care of us, an’ kids like us.”

“He’s slaughtering people, Gabi,” Dick said softly, leaning forward. “I love him, and he’s my brother, but… He killed sixteen people by cutting them apart with a machete while they were still alive. I don’t know how… That’s a lot to take in, you know?”

“Those putas raped my brother an’ me for two fuckin’ years, cabron; shit Jason did to them was nothin’ compared to what they did to us, and dozens a kids like us. The guy who kidnapped Kylie sold her like she was a fuckin’ whore for most her life. Everyone of those putas got what they deserved; you an’ the other Bats don’t get what shit is like, down here. You beat the shit outta a guy once, an’ think ‘hey, I done good today’ an’ move on. But that same guy, he comes back, angrier, an’ takes what he wants when you’re somewhere else, tryin’ to ‘help’ somebody else. An’ it just keeps goin’, an nothin’ changes. We keep gettin’ beat, and raped, and robbed, and murdered, but you Bats jus’ keep lettin’ them walk away from it, so they can come back an’ do it again,” Gabi said viciously. “You might not like what he does, but you know what? Those people who hurt me an’ Raf, an’ who knows how many other kids? They ain’t never gonna hurt nobody else again. Kylie’s pimp ain’t never gonna kidnap another girl an’ whore her out. Maybe you can’t see past what he’s doin’ to see the good shit he’s done, but that says more ‘bout you than it does Jason. An’ if you ain’t gonna help me find him, I ain’t gonna sit here, an’ listen to you talk shit ‘bout a guy who’s the only adult in my life who ever gave a damn about me.”

 

* * *

 

Bruce was sitting in his office at Wayne Enterprises, rubbing his temples as he tried focusing his eyes on the accounting paperwork in front of him, exhaustion and stress catching up with him, head throbbing, vision blurry -the coffee he’d been chugging since… He glanced down at his watch, and frowned. Since two days ago? Damn. Two days of long days, longer nights, and nothing but coffee, and whatever food he could grab quickly on his way in or out of the Cave.

He needed at least a few hours of sleep; he wasn’t a young man anymore, and his body could no longer take the same abuse he’d put it through so often in his twenties and thirties.

“Mr. Wayne? There’s a call for you, private line. Says it’s important.”

Bruce glanced up, and gave Celia a tight smile. “Alright, Celia. Thank you. Please call Alfred, have him bring the car by for lunch; I’m going home early.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad, Mr. Wayne; no offense, but you haven’t been looking well all weak,” She said, her voice warm and concerned at the same time.

“Yes, I’ve been working rather hard lately; Alfred’s been getting on me about it,” He said wryly. “Thank you, Celia. Let me know when Alfred arrives, will you?”

“Of course, Mr. Wayne.”

As soon as Celia was out of the office, he picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Beloved.” Talia’s voice was colder than usual, but he thought he heard an undercurrent of concern. “Have you seen or spoken with Tayiri?”

He ground his teeth at the pet name. “I haven’t seen Jason, in almost a week. Why are you calling me here?”

“Because I couldn’t reach you at your home. So you haven’t seen him then?”

“No. Why?”

She didn’t answer him right away, but he heard her speaking rapid fire Arabic, telling someone to prepare her flight, before she spoke to him again. “Because I haven’t spoken to him since the night you called me.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you,” Bruce threw out.

“Don’t be petty, beloved; it doesn’t suite you at all. Tayiri always answers my calls. I’ve left him three messages, and he hasn’t returned those either. I’ll be landing in Gotham as soon as I can.”

“Talia –“

“Good bye, Beloved.”


	20. This Is My Body And Soul Here

Jason groaned loudly as he dragged himself back to consciousness, realizing with some worry that he wasn’t shivering anymore, despite the fact that he was laying in freezing water.

He was cold, though. Except for his leg. His leg was on fire, but that was to be expected, really. It was definitely a compound fracture, and the last time he’d been able to move his head enough to look down, it looked to be about three inches from his ankle, sticking out about two inches through the skin. And, while his vision was a bit blurry, he’d been pretty sure that angry red was from infection, not just a side product of being blown up.

And the infection was most likely a side effect from the nasty, literally shitty water he was currently laying in. Just like the hypothermia.

He groaned again, reaching out with his unburned arm, clawing at anything he could use to drag himself further along the sewer. He wasn’t sure where, exactly, he was in the winding maze that encompassed more square footage than Gotham itself, but he was pretty sure that he’d floated west, which should have put him towards the center of the city -or somewhere in that general direction, at least.

And if he remembered correctly -which wasn’t a guarantee, his thoughts were definitely getting a little hazy -this section of the city didn’t have the normal grates and sewer access points that the outer areas -those closer to the bay -had; here, it was an initial pipeline, that funneled into bigger pipelines, that eventually flowed into the bay, with only a few access points, that required the maintenance workers to go down a hundred feet.

But he’d be fucked sideways if he was gonna die in a fuckin’ sewer.

_“Al-Saqr Bin Almukhbir.”_

_Jason spun sharply, letting the scumbag he was currently beating the hell out of slump down the wall as he took in the relaxed pose, and casual saunter of the masked figure standing at the rear of the alley._

_“Bohai. What’re you doin’ here?” He asked, cautiously moving around, so that the opening of the alley was at his back, and the fire escape in easy reach in case he needed to make a quick exit._

_“I’ve come to take you home, Al-Saqr.”_

_“Talia Al Ghul released me from her service, and granted me permission to return to Gotham,” He replied stiffly. “I **am** home.”_

_“Safinat Dakhma has no authority to release you, or allow you to leave Nanda Parbat. Only Ra’s Al Ghul holds that authority, and until he releases you, your home is Nanda Parbat. He has ordered you to return immediately.”_

_Jason rubbed the back of his neck, discreetly looking around the shadows filling the alley for more assassins. “See, here’s the thing, Bohai… I ain’t goin’ back. Got some shit goin’ down here, can’t really just walk away at the moment. Try again next week, we’ll see if my schedule clears up.”_

_Bohai stepped forward, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Ra’s Al Ghul has graciously forgiven your transgression, Al-Saqr. He understands that you were not entirely to blame for this… lapse of judgement. But you returning home is not a request; it is an **order** , and my orders are to bring you back however necessary.”_

Jason grunted as his leg got caught on… _something_ … agony ripping through him like a cascade as he curled up on himself. Fucking Bohai. Stupid, flash-bang lovin’ Bohai. He was gonna kill the fucker when he dragged himself out of the sewers, if Talia didn’t get to him first. If she didn’t already know, she was gonna be pissed when she found out her daddy dearest had sent Bohai after him.

Not because Ra’s sent an assassin; that was par for the course. She’d be insulted that he’d sent only one, and Bohai at that -Bohai who they sent all untrained and untested novitiates to, to learn footwork.

He wasn’t a bad guy though; Jason had actually kind of liked the stupid dick wad, and found himself feeling a bit sorry that the man was most likely dead. Even if he’d survived the explosion that sent Jason plummeting into the sewers, he’d still have to go back and explain to Ra’s that, not only had he not returned with Jason, but he’d maybe, accidentally killed his daughter’s little pet project.

He almost snorted at that. Poor Bohai had caught the short end of the stick there. Bring Jason back, face Talia’s wrath; don’t bring him in, face Ra’s wrath. Either way, face Jason’s wrath.

How long ago had that been? He knew he’d been unconscious for at least a few hours, since it’d been dawn when he’d come to, just barely able to see the sun’s glint from the hole he’d fallen through. And God only fuckin’ knew how long he’d been dragging himself through the endless maze that was the Gotham City Sewers, praying that -if he was gonna die -hypothermia, or infection would take him before Killer Croc found him.

He paused in his efforts for a moment. Was Waylon still free? He was pretty sure he’d been locked up last he knew, but that was… Before he joined the League? Before Arkham? How long had it been? Shit, maybe the human reptile had moved on to warmer seas and greener sewers. Shit, even cannibalistic, mutated crocodiles had to get bored, right?

“Focus, Jason!”

His own voice startled him, cutting the _drip drip drip_ of the water, and the slight shuffling noise of debris nudging as it went down the tunnel. But it was enough to make him realize how screwed he really was; if he was starting to lose his concentration, things were worse than he thought -and he was pretty sure what he thought was bad enough.

He opened his eyes - _opened, when the fuck had he closed them?_ -and glanced up, reassuring himself that he hadn’t missed a branch off of another sewer in his confusion.

_Oh? An exit? And how do you plan on pulling yourself out of the water, onto the walkway, and up a sheer wall to said branch off, little birdie? Hmm… Seems to me like you’re in some serious trouble! Ha ha ha!_

He shuddered, trying to practice his breathing techniques like Talia had taught him. He was beyond fucked if he was hearing _his_ voice again.

_“In… and out. In… and out. In… and out.”_

_“This is fuckin’ stupid; why the hell we doin’ this?” Jason demanded, opening his eyes, and glaring at Talia._

_“Because you are **afraid** , Little Bird. Because I can feel your fear every time you enter a room. You want to train with me? You want me to teach you how to defeat that fear? Then close your eyes.”_

_She didn’t open her eyes, or move any part of her body except her lips as she spoke. Jason grumbled, but did as he was ordered._

_“Now, listen to my voice, Jason abn Habibi. This man, the one you call Joker… he has done terrible things to you. He has broken you. Some would say beyond repair. You hear him… whispering in your ear. Telling you of what he has taken from you. Spilling poisonous thoughts, until you think them your own. Do not deny it, Little Bird,” She said softly, cutting Jason off before he could speak. “I know it to be so. Only when we have cleansed his voice from your mind do we begin.”_

Jason grunted as he tried to haul himself onto the walkway, biting his lip to hold back his scream of agony, giving up only a few moments in, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes as he slid back into the murky water. He held back a whimper as he felt the filthy water seeping back into his wound, underneath his suit, but it was the helplessness that made him want to cry.

_It was cold, and it was filthy, and he was covered in his own puke, and piss, and shit, and snot, tears streaming down his face, agony racing through his entire body, shuddering as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the blows to land._

No. _No_. Jason took a few deep, fast breaths, and screamed, using both hands -broken bones and burns be damned -to haul himself up out of the water, and onto the walkway, his voice bouncing and echoing along the cement walls until it seemed to be drilling into his head.

But he was on the fucking walkway, he was out of the fucking water. He was another step closer to getting out of this fucking sewer.

_That’s it, Jason. Keep goin’. What’d you always tell me? One step at a time, don’t think ‘bout the step after that ‘til you get there._

Jason let his head slump back against the cold floor, the memory of Jenni’s voice soothing him into unconsciousness.


	21. Root Of The Rage

_Jason knelt on one knee, head bowed as he waited._

_“Who comes before the Head of the Demon?”_

_He felt Talia’s hand tighten on his shoulder as she spoke, her voice ringing clear through the silence of the audience chamber._

_“The Daughter of the Demon, Safinat Dakhma, to present one to be judged worthy.”_

_“And who do you present, Safinat Dakhma, Daughter of the Demon?”_

_“One who wishes to shed his name, and his past, to be reborn as the Sword in the Darkness, to die for the will of the Demon.”_

_He barely held in his shudder as he felt Ra’s Al Ghul’s hand on his head._

_“Rise then, and show your worth.”_

_Jason instantly took to his feet, hands pulling his swords as six other initiates rushed him. While he wasn’t as proficient as the other students with katanas, his short swords gave him the advantage of multiple opponents, and more than once, he lashed out with a heavy hilt to bash an initiate away._

_When all was said and done, he alone remained standing, and he immediately knelt again, as Ra’s stepped towards him._

_“Worth has been proven. The man you once were no longer exists; rise, and take your place amongst us, Al’Saqr Bin Almukhbir.”_

_As Jason stood, he glanced over at Talia, standing with the rest of the masters, and the look of pride on her face, the small smile, made him feel a warmth he hadn’t known still existed._

 

* * *

 

Talia made her way to the apartment Jason had called ‘home’ when he last resided in Gotham, frowning at the filth and degradation that filled the streets. She’d seen some of the worst cities the world had to offer, but she’d never expected to see it here in America, so out in the open. Tayiri had told her that police didn’t come to this part of the city anymore, that there was no real ‘law’ anymore, but, if she was being honest, she had thought he was exaggerating the problem; she couldn’t believe her Beloved would let even a small part of his city get so bad.

She strode up the stairwell, trying to ignore the smell as she knocked on the door to the apartment where Beloved’s oldest child, and one of Tayiri’s street urchins were talking -her contacts in Gotham had been keeping eyes on the urchins, and the Bat children since she’d lost contact with Tayiri.

In hindsight, she knew herself to be a fool; she’d refrained from putting her contacts on Tayiri, thinking him deserving of at least that much respect, that he was an adult, and even if he wasn’t, he had still earned at least that much.

But now he was missing. And she wasn’t too proud to admit that she felt a certain… anxiety… that she hadn’t felt in decades, over the thought that he might be harmed.

She didn’t bother knocking, pushing the door open and stepping inside, closing it quietly behind her.

“Nightwing. Gabriella. I am –“

“I know who you are,” Nightwing said darkly, moving into a fighting stance, his face dark. “What are you doing here?”

“Wait, _I_ don’t know who she is,” The girl said, her voice confused, but she had good instincts, sliding over the back of the couch, and putting as much distance as possible between what she clearly saw as two possible combatants sizing each other up.

“I am Talia Al Ghul, Daughter of the Demon, child. And I’m not here to fight,” She added, casting a look at Nightwing.

“You’re Jason’s… like his adopted mom,” Gabriella said, her voice going up an octave as she came back around the couch, and up to Talia. “Do you know where he is?”

For the first time in many years, Talia found herself stunned into silence, as the girl hugged her like a lifeline. But she quickly regained her composure, and gently pushed the girl back.

“No, I do not, child. Which is why I am here. Tayiri is my responsibility, and as such, I must find him, and ensure his wellbeing.”

“ ‘ _Tayiri_ ’? What the hell is that, his ‘super-secret assassin’ name?” Nightwing asked, his voice dripping with derision.

Talia took a deep breath, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, a desire that quickly turned humorous, as she chuckled lightly. For all her Beloved might try to deny it, the fact that all of his children had developed a streak of sarcasm as long as the Great Wall spoke to where, exactly, they’d inherited that trait.

“I think, Nightwing, that you are more your father’s child, and Tayiri’s brother than any of you realize. But I did not come here to argue with you, Nightwing; in fact, I did not come here for you at all. I’m here for Gabriella, and the other children Tayiri has claimed as his.” She paused, and glanced down at the girl again. “Until such a time as Tayiri is found, you, your brother, and the children you call yours are under my protection. This is the address of what you would call a safe house, that I use when I reside in Gotham. Take yourselves there, and take what comfort you will as those under the protection of Safinat Dahkma,” She said, her voice carrying the weight of her words as she handed the young girl a slip of paper. “I will come there once I am finished with my initial sweep, and question you further. Do you understand?”

The girl nodded, and much to Talia’s surprise, she gave her a low bow. “I understand, Talia Al Ghul. Thank you.”

Nightwing, to his credit, waited until the girl had quietly let herself out of the apartment, before scoffing.

“Why are you _really_ here, Talia? What do you _want_?”

Now that the child was gone, Talia stopped pretending, and let herself present as it would, the smile sliding off her face as she took a step closer to Tayiri’s brother.

“I am here for the reason I stated, son of my Beloved. Because of that, I will forego teaching you a lesson in manners, and how to question your elders. Well, that and because I’m in a hurry, and getting the information I need from you will be easier if I don’t have to torture it out of you,” She said, her voice dark. “Do you, or your father, know where Tayiri is? Do not lie to me, child, for I am in no mood for games.”

Nightwing held her eyes for only a moment, before shaking his head angrily. “No. But Jason’s made a lot of enemies since you _dunked_ in the _murder pit_ , and drove him crazy. The Black Mask is at the top of that list.”

“Tayiri has spoken to me of the one you call ‘Black Mask’, and his vendetta. But one such as him should pose no threat to Tayiri. Very well, I will start with the Black Mask, and ascertain if he is holding Tayiri prisoner. I will inform you when I find him.”

“Talia, wait!”

She paused, hand on the doorknob, turning to look back at him. “As I said, I am in a bit of a _hurry_ , Nightwing. If you’re going to speak, do so quickly before I lose my patience.”

“Jason… Is he… I know the Pit, it… it did things to him, but…”

“Do you wish to know if he is still the same boy who left you? No, he is not. He is a man now, unafraid, and in control of his own destiny. If it was the Lazarus Pit that drove him to attack you, and your brother? No, it was not; while the Pit might have heightened the edge, that anger towards you, and Timothy Drake, and my Beloved is his own, over your failure to save him, over your failure to avenge his death, over your failure to see that he was damaged, but that he remained unbroken. And perhaps, most of all, he remains… what is the term you Americans use… _‘pissed as hell’_ … that you and the rest of his family refuse to do what needs to be done to save your city.”

Nightwing startled, staring at her for a moment as he clearly searched for words. “What… what does that mean?” He finally choked out.

She scoffed. “Look around you, Richard Grayson. Look out the window, and see how you have failed this city. In your father’s foolish quest to remain free of his conscious, he has allowed the area known as Park Row to turn into a war zone, unlike anything I have ever seen in a civilized nation. On  those streets below us, dozens of innocents die, hundreds remain in the throes of narcotics, and common thugs rule through fear and oppression. You think yourselves helping, by stopping the few crimes you can see on your nightly rounds, and declare yourselves heroes.

“But you are not ‘heroes’, Richard Grayson. You are like an apprentice healer, trying to use your own methods of curing a disease, instead of listening to the masters that have come before you, and amputating the infection. And in your arrogance, hundreds, if not thousands, of people have died.

“That is why the one you call Jason Todd holds such hatred in his heart for you and your father.”


End file.
